


Like Rolling Uphill Without the Struggle

by smallsteps32



Series: The Other Side [5]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:35:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 181,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallsteps32/pseuds/smallsteps32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5th in series: When the story is over and the battles have been fought, we end with Happily Ever After. But surely it's the Happily Ever After that we'd rather hear about? It's definitely the part that Deborah Richardson is looking forwards to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Maybe she wasn’t qualified to judge, or perhaps she was simply too close to the flames to make a proper decision, but for once in her life, everything seemed to be going extraordinarily well for Deborah Richardson.

For the first time in her life she had, simultaneously, a job that paid reasonably well and wasn’t under threat of bankruptcy each day, a roof over her head, a daughter who though far away could come and go as she pleased and often did, and most spectacularly, Martin Crieff sharing her bed, and her life, every day.

Deborah allowed herself the indulgence of a small smile as she flicked the dishwater from her hands, careful not to splash bubbles on her uniform sleeves, and turned to survey the sitting room; Martin was sitting on the sofa, hunched forwards as he typed intermittently at his laptop which rested on the coffee table, looking somewhat like a secretive little crab as the morning sun filtered through the window and lit up the red in his hair.

Deciding that he would appreciate just a few moments more peace before she disturbed him, Deborah wandered from the kitchen and through the sitting room, brushing her hand over Martin’s shoulders on her way to the door; he shifted and flexed, but otherwise didn’t react beyond a pleasured hum as she crossed to the door and plucked the pile of letters from the floor.

If someone had asked her…not even the seven years ago in which they had first met, but a simple two years ago, even when they had been first exploring their relationship, Deborah couldn’t have begun to imagine that they would live like this; she loved Martin with all of her heart, and there was no longer any doubt that that he loved her, but the idea of them shifting from two people into something resembling and _household_ …that was remarkable.

And yet there they were, Deborah mused, as flicked through the letters, abandoning all but the one that caught her eye, and crossed the room to drop down beside him. It wasn’t like anything else Deborah had ever experienced, and for once, she could honestly say that she was truly, and completely happy.

Yes, they bickered, almost all the time; that was just how they functioned. That didn’t mean that living with Martin, existing with Martin, wasn’t beautiful. Deborah’s previous attempts at settling down had been lacklustre at best, and there had always been something wrong, or an inkling that someone was trying too hard, or not hard enough. They had set roles, and neither party had been good at fulfilling them.

The same couldn’t be said now; Deborah was sure, with an aching, harrowing certainty, that what she and Martin had was for good. It was like devoting your life to your best friend, and to the love of your life, and yet, nothing like either; it was just a feeling, in the pit of her lungs through to the tip of her toes as they curled in anticipation, that whispered and screamed that this man was as much a component of her world as the heart pumping blood through her veins was, and Deborah honestly couldn’t remember how she had existed without Martin’s presence.

“Are you still doing that?” Deborah inquired, as she sat forwards, propping herself up on her elbows and shifting close enough that their knees pressed together; she watched the little tables open and close on the computer screen, and although she appreciated what he was doing, couldn’t help but feel that familiar flutter of despair, “Martin, you were the one telling me to get out of bed and be ready to leave.”

“I know, I know.” Martin replied quickly, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, his fingers never stopping as they danced jerkily across the keyboard; he spared Deborah a fleeting smile at best, but it was warm and affectionate, so she had no complaints, “But, we’re going on a long trip, far away, where there won’t be any way for me to do this, so I want to have it all ready for when we start paying for things.”

“I think you’re just being stubborn.” Deborah remarked fondly, dropping one hand down to trace the tips of her fingers over and around Martin’s knee; it was true that they had been trying to sort out joint bank accounts for months, and it _was_ exciting, but he was cutting it rather fine considering how early they were expected at the airfield.

“Why would I be being stubborn?” Martin retorted, snorting slightly, but carrying on as he had been, even as Deborah slid a little closer and curled her hands around his arm, so that she could rest her chin on his shoulder.

“Why would you be being stubborn?” Deborah repeated dryly, smirking and quirking an eyebrow at him, “Oh, let me think…hmmm…could it be that you’ve been perfecting this since last night, and your last words to me before I went to bed were, ‘Don’t worry Dear, I’ll have this up and running before the sun’.”

“Of course I’m perfecting it.” Martin agreed, his cheeks flushing scarlet nonetheless as he very deliberately didn’t take his eyes from the computer screen; he was always so lovely to tease, even now that he should have learnt how to handle it, “I’m a perfectionist.”

“I _know_ , and I love that about you.” Deborah drawled, smiling warmly as she tipped her head forwards and pressed a kiss to Martin’s shoulder, snuggling closer despite her earlier remark; it was no concern of hers if they were late, “When you moved in it was like gaining a cleaning fairy; I actually know where all my things are now.”

“Well, if you’re so enamoured with my organisational skills, maybe I should start offering Maid services.” Martin said, in that jaunty tone of voice that accompanied his badly executed jokes; he smiled brightly, self-satisfied, and turned his head to meet her gaze, his wrist doing a little flourish as he tapped, “Maids get paid much more than ten pounds an hour.”

“From Van Man to Maid.” Deborah mused aloud, pursing her lips and making a show of staring into the middle-distance; then she smirked, and gave Martin’s arm a little squeeze, taking care to run her palms over the subtle, but definite muscles that he had built up shifting furniture for over a decade, “No, I’d miss these…”

“Muscle mass over money.” Martin remarked sagely, fixing his attention back on the banking site that he was carefully navigating; he could pretend all he liked, Deborah knew that he knew she adored his physique, and exactly how proud he was of that fact, “It’s nice to know one of us has our priorities straight.”

“But how would I cope if you stopped being strong enough to pick me and throw me down on the bed?” Deborah asked airily, playing up her shocked despair and blinking up at Martin from where she rested on his shoulder, chin pressed to the smooth yet scratchy material of his jacket.

“ _Well_ , I…I-uh…ahem…” Martin began to reply wickedly, then he blushed and his eyes ducked down from where they had lingered on Deborah’s lips; before she could tease him, or play along, he glanced back to the computer screen and let out a triumphant exclamation, rapping his hands on the keyboard, “Ah, there we go! I told you I could do it.”

“I never doubted your abilities for a second.” Deborah replied, peering over his shoulder at the odd assortment of coloured boxes and words; there was a reason that _he_ was doing this and not _her_.

“Of course you didn’t.” Martin murmured, as he sat back and folded his arms together, leaning just so into Deborah’s side and smiling down at her, the pride evident in the cheerful glow that emanated from his pores.

“So what have you actually done?” Deborah asked, aiming for nonchalance; if nothing else, Martin would enjoy getting to explain his processes to her, even if he did assume that she was only teasing or pretending not to know. In truth, he could have done anything, and was likely to have done lots of things that weren’t strictly related to joining their accounts, just because he thought it was a good idea.

“Oh, it’s quite simple actually.” Martin explained eagerly, leaning forwards again to tap at the screen, and then pull it into his lap when Deborah didn’t come closer to inspect his actions, “I’ve left our personal savings accounts separate-”

“Why?” Deborah inquired, narrowing her eyes at him; they had had discussions about this many a time in the last few weeks, and yet no shred of guilt or sheepishness crossed Martin’s face.

“Because they’re ours, and that way our personal money, a-and anything we might get gifted by family, o-or whatever…that’s all separate.” Martin informed her, biting down on his bottom lip as he took his eyes from hers and looked pointedly down at the screen, scrolling aimlessly down the page.

“It doesn’t need to be.” Deborah replied tersely, though she did settle back into the sofa when she realised that her shoulders had tensed, and her hands and stiffened around his arm, “I did tell you that I don’t mind sharing with you;I _meant_ everything.”

“I know you did, _but_ , you’re just going to have to let this lie.” Martin said imploringly, turning his head to gaze at her with his big blue eyes; he already knew that this was a debate that he was going to win, “Please, for my own peace of mind.”

“Oh fine.” Deborah sighed, conceding to rest her cheek on Martin’s shoulder once more; it wasn’t as if it were a big problem, or one that she particularly wanted to fight over; if Martin was happy, then she’d put up with his odd quirks, “You’re turning me into a pushover.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you were in my shoes, believe me.” Martin remarked sarcastically, and then took one look at Deborah’s quirked eyebrow, and his eyes widened as he hastily returned to explaining what he had done, “Right, uh… _this_ , this here is our joint account; basically that’s where all our wages and other income goes, and then that’s what we pay the bills from.”

“Excellent, that’s exactly what I asked for.” Deborah exclaimed, smiling wanly as she peered at the digits and the details being presented to her, giving Martin’s arm a faint squeeze, “Well done.”

“I _am_ capable of following basic requests.” Martin retorted, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he pouted at her; his indignation wasn’t heated, but Deborah found that it still instilled a pleasant fluttering in her chest, even after so much time.

“Oh _really_?” Deborah drawled, shucking her knees up to rest against his thighs as she curled into Martin’s side and batted her eyelashes at him, “It’s funny, I must have been living with someone else for the last nine months.”

“Yes, that’s very funny.” Martin acknowledge wryly, but he smiled wanly and tipped his head down to press his lips to hers nonetheless; he looked thoughtful for a moment, then he lifted his laptop in one hand and waved it slightly before placing it carefully on the coffee table, “I’m still not sure about this, I-I mean-”

“Martin, it makes sense.” Deborah assured him, taking care to be patient, and to actually listen to what he was trying to say without giving him enough rope that he could hang himself, “Carolyn is paying us a joint wage, which is now fifty per cent larger than my original one-”

“Only because we still can’t afford to pay me a full wage.” Martin muttered, huffing through his nose and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table before thinking better of it and bringing them down to the carpet with a thud, “This is just her way of sweetening the deal.”

“I know it is, but it’s better than nothing.” Deborah soothed him, pursing her lips as she stroked a hand from his shoulder to his wrist, cuddling close enough to rest her forehead against his cheek, and then pull back to examine his expression; to say that she was disappointed would have been an understatement, “What’s that face for?”

“Nothing.” Martin replied shortly, his petulant frown and the way that his eyes darted from side to side betraying the truth, even before he huffed and threw his hands into the air, “I-I just thought that, after the first load of new clients, and the influx of more money, and _not being bankrupt_ anymore, that we’d keep rising – but we’re not!”

“Martin, if you had been there right at the start of MJN like I was, you’d know just how far we’ve actually come.” Deborah reasoned, meeting and holding his gaze; it was true, things hadn’t gotten as good as they had hoped, but compared to where Deborah had thought that MJN was going, what they had was a miracle, “The fact that we’re making a profit, and a large, steady, one at that, is remarkable.”

“We could get better.” Martin insisted, the hope almost a tangible glitter in his eyes; that only made Deborah’s heart ache to make things right for him, even though she for once had no way to do so.

“No we couldn’t.” Deborah replied softly, but firmly, as she leaned into Martin’s side, “MJN may be able to survive, just about, but we’re never going to earn much more than we do now, we’re never going to get more popularity, and we’re never going to expand.”

“But-” Martin barely got the syllable out before he was cut off.

“There are no buts Martin.” Deborah said, looking imploringly into his eyes, raising one hand into the air between them in the hope that it would keep him from arguing, “We’re doing well just by existing in a state that isn’t on the verge of collapse; we may be able to afford to fix GERTI when she breaks, but we’ll never be able to afford any friends for her.”

“I know that.” Martin conceded glumly, slouching back into the cushions and pushing a hand through his carefully combed hair, before he started picking at his epaulets, “It’s just – sometimes I wonder, what was even the point in saving it all if we’re never going to grow big.”

“So that’s what’s been keeping you up at night.” Deborah muttered, rolling her eyes, and reaching out to brush the backs of her fingers through his now messy fringe; for weeks now she would wake in the middle of the night, and although Martin wouldn’t be tossing and turning, he would be laid out on his back, exactly where he had been when she had curled herself around him, without saying a word, but obviously deep in thought.

For someone who usually slept like a log and needed klaxons to rouse him from his slumber, that was worrying; but Deborah had chosen not to bother him about it, as Martin was the sort of man that liked to work through his problems on his own.

“How do you know about that?” Martin demanded, his eyebrows rising to meet his hairline as his cheeks flushed and brought out the sharpness of his freckles.

“You play with my hair when you’re moping.” Deborah informed him wryly, dropping a hand down to rest on his knee and squeeze comfortingly, “It’s a bit hard to sleep when you’re stroking me.”

“Sorry.” Martin let out a sort of truncated chuckle, and blushed all the more, even as Deborah shook her head and smiled, pecking at the corner of his lips; that didn’t keep him occupied for long, the eternal worrier that he was, “It just…seems a bit…”

“We did well Martin.” Deborah interrupted sternly, unwilling to allow him to delve into the angst ridden pit that was simmering under the surface of his mind, “I know that you’re going to gloat terribly now, but you really did a fantastic job…none of this would have been here now if it weren’t for you.”

“What was it all for?” Martin groaned, shaking his head as if the world rested on his shoulders and he was trying not to let it topple with the movement, as he gazed despairingly into Deborah’s eyes; he was beautiful when his face was so open, free of stubborn lines or a scowl, but there wasn’t time to focus on how nice his unwavering trust in her was.

“So that we could live the lives we want to.” Deborah explained, and then sighed; she shifted so that her legs were tucked beneath her, and dropped her hands to take Martin’s and intertwine them, “Martin, saving MJN may not have shot her to loftier heights, but it means that when we want to step away and move on collectively, we _can_ , and gracefully. As it was before, everything was just crumbling into a messy, debt-ridden heap.”

“I suppose…” Martin agreed after a moment of thought that Deborah was sure was just him stubbornly deciding to agree with her for the sake of peace, going by the crinkle at the bridge of his nose; without another word, he turned his wrist to check his watch, and glanced over his shoulder towards the door, “Are we going then?”

“Not yet.” Deborah replied, and powered by a reignited surge of excitement, she dropped his hands and reached behind her for the letter that she had dropped on the cushions, holding it out for him to take, “I have something to show you.”

“What? What is it?” Martin asked as he took the letter, peering at her in confusion as he turned it over in his hands; it was just a bank statement, probably a response to all of their changes, but when his eyes fell on his name and address, Martin’s expression lit up, and his lips began to curl upwards into his cheeks, “Oh! That came _here_?”

“Yes, Captain.” Deborah answered, unable to keep the smile from her face as Martin didn’t even bother to tear open the envelope, but simply sat forwards on the cushions, perched on the end of the sofa as if to leap up. For the last nine months all of his post had been forwarded from his old home, passed on by helpful students that had printed his new address over his old one.

“And it wasn’t forwarded from Parkside?” Martin checked, holding the letter tight enough in both hands that it crumpled slightly as he gestured with it towards her.

“No.” Deborah replied warmly; this was an important moment for him, as ridiculous as it sounded, and perhaps teasing was something that could wait until later, “Straight here.”

“That is…” Martin seemed to watch the letter in awe, as if he were thrumming with some power that it possessed; then he really did leap to his feet, and made a joyous little hop of triumph as he spun on his heels to face Deborah and exult at her, “Yes! They know I live here!”

“It’s only the bank Martin.” Deborah remarked slowly, quirking an eyebrow at him as she rearranged herself, swinging her legs back onto the floor and sitting forwards, ready to follow him when he inevitably sprinted away.

“But they’re acknowledging that we live together!” Martin emphasised, his grin so wide that his flushed cheeks faded somewhat into the background of his face, “The bank sent a letter, to _this_ address! That means I officially live here!”

“You’ve lived here for nine months.” Deborah reminded him drolly, as she watched him straighten up and start tearing into the envelope, pulling out the wad of documents that he was bound to try and read before they left the flat.

“Not according to the bank, or the council, or my sister…” Martin muttered, rolling his eyes as his eyes scanned back and forth, and he began to pace around the coffee table.

“Alright Darling,” Deborah groaned, as she hoisted herself to her feet and followed his tracks until she could place her hands on Martin’s waist and direct him towards the front door, “you can relish the thoughtfulness of Barclays for checking your personal details in the car.”

oOoOoOo

Carolyn’s wrath at them being an hour late for work was tempered somewhat by the fact that she was still feeling queasy from a week of bed-rest and sickness, and the mountain of paperwork that neither Martin nor Deborah had really felt in a position to complete without their CEO.

In light of that, they had decided to simply get on with the preparations for today’s flight without complaint, which was how Deborah found herself wandering up to the Tower to find Karl and file the flight-plan, before making her lazy way back to the porta-cabin. The lads were sorting out the actual plane preparations, or so she had thought; when she actually entered the porta-cabin, it was to find Carolyn sitting behind _her_ desk (not shunning their company as she had threatened to do), and Arthur lounging on the sofa, feet up, and no Martin in sight.

“Is the cargo all packed?” Deborah inquired as she came to lean back against Martin’s desk, propping herself up with her arms outstretched behind her.

“Yep, I got it all in, even though Mum said that I wouldn’t be able to.” Arthur replied proudly, kicking his feet down and leaning forwards with his arms rested on his knees as he engaged her, and answered the unasked question, “Skip’s just checking something he saw on the load-sheet.”

“I’m sure he is.” Deborah drawled, bringing a hand forwards to inspect her nails; along with his renewed vigour devoted to resurrecting MJN, Martin had also become extremely hands-on when it came to making sure that everything was perfect before each flight, taking the title of Captain to heart in a way he hadn’t before, if such a thing was possible, “I saw quite a lot of boxes; who is it we’re flying for?”

“I’m not sure, but I think he might be a zoo keeper.” Arthur informed her, with the pinched anticipation of a highly dubious yet thrilled spaniel; Deborah raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side, glancing towards Carolyn, who had apparently been listening the whole time.

“I didn’t ask too many questions,” Carolyn explained curtly, as she continued to scratch away at the paperwork spread out around her, “Lord knows I didn’t want to talk to the overly excitable American who was rude enough to mention that _he_ would be taking Easyjet back to Brazil while _we_ carry his things.”

“Of course not, because that would be the height of stooping to talk to such a scoundrel.” Deborah remarked, nodding sagely before turning her attention back to Arthur, “What makes you think he’s a zookeeper, Arthur?”

“Oh, just the boxes that he left for us to fly.” Arthur explained unhelpfully, shrugging as if it were no matter; he could be wrong of course, knowing his particular skills of deduction, but that didn’t stop the tremor of trepidation from prickling in Deborah’s guts, “They’re brilliant.”

“I bet they are.” Deborah drawled wryly, giving Arthur one last smile before plucking one of her pens from the desk and tapping the page that Carolyn was currently working on, “You’re not joining us then? I would have thought you’d have loved a weekend away after spending all week stuck indoors with the flu.”

“Stuck indoors with Herc more like.” Carolyn scoffed, shaking her head disdainfully at the very idea, even though Deborah knew that she was relishing every moment that Herc got to spend away from Switzerland nowadays, “Flu, I can handle with my teeth bared; Herc on the other hand is even more of a hindrance when he thinks he’s being helpful than Arthur is.”

“How romantic.” Deborah remarked, choosing to let the matter lie; she cared enough, loathe as she was to admit it, not to linger on the fact that Carolyn had managed in typical fashion to come down with a horrible illness in the very same week that Herc was returning to England for the first time in three months.

“It was.” Arthur exclaimed, lumbering on after the uptake as usual, oblivious to Carolyn’s sharp glare, from across the room, “He stayed all week and tried to get Mum to drink medicinal soup; it was very brave.”

“Quite.” Carolyn acknowledged reluctantly, refusing to look up as Deborah smirked at her from across the desks, “Nevertheless, I have no desire to move from one humid and horrible location to another, so I’m staying here.”

“Never mind.” Deborah sighed dramatically, pushing away from the desks to tread sluggishly towards the sofa, “We’ll have fun, just the three of us, won’t we Arthur?”

“ _Yeah_.” Arthur agreed confidently, rising to his feet at the sign of a single hand gesture, “I’ve been practicing that game you told me about, and I’m almost sure that I could beat Martin if I put my mind to it.”

“If you don’t leave this room right now and get on the plane, you won’t be doing anything, because I will have strung you up and left you outside for the crows to devour.” Carolyn announced, raising her voice as her voice petered off with the residual strain of illness; her glare wasn’t even slightly hindered.

“Aw…it was things like this that persuaded me to work for you in the first place. Such happy memories.” Deborah drawled, placing a hand over her chest even as she strode towards the door, and held it open, letting the early morning breeze clip at her heels, “Come on Arthur.”

oOoOoOo

When the two of them came to walk around GERTI, who was now shining with a newish lick of paint and glinting in the sun, Arthur built up a sort of background hum as he talked about something or other that Deborah wasn’t really listening to; she was more interested in glancing at the Hold, which was still wide open, though the insides were dark and invisible in the blinding sun. Martin should have been done by now; she supposed that he was just being particularly picky this morning.

Nevertheless, Deborah made sure that she and Arthur walked as near to the Hold as they could when passing, which turned out to be a good thing; as they momentarily blocked out the light, they must have alerted Martin to their presence, as his voice rang out, loud and echoing from within.

 _“Debs! De-Debbie- Deborah_!”

She didn’t respond at first, still unused to turning her head at anything other than her full name (and even that when the mood was right), so she was completely out of sight of the Hold before she came to a stop, and turned, waiting for Martin to appear, though he didn’t.

Deborah felt herself smile slightly as Martin’s voice registered finally in her head; there had always been something about their relationship that…she couldn’t even put her finger on it, but in the last few months, it felt like whatever it was had vanished, and any barriers, or semblances of formalities were gone along with it.

Martin was still insistent that he called her by her full name, and didn’t seem keen on shortening it (Deborah was sure that it was a lingering jealously, as he knew that in recent years, only her exes had been on such good terms with her). Yet, about two months ago, he had started; Deborah had been surprised when the first ‘Debs’ or ‘Debbie’ had slipped out, to the point that it didn’t even cross her radar; she simply didn’t respond to it.

And Martin was always quick to correct himself; but he couldn’t seem to help it. It slipped out as comfortably and thoughtlessly as ‘dear’, or ‘darling’, which led Deborah to believe that even though Martin was trying with all his might not to shorten her name, she was too endearing for him to do anything else. She still wasn’t sure whether she liked it, but the fact that his barriers had fallen to such an extent was…thrilling…she loved him so much.

“Yes Darling?” Deborah called into the Hold; when no answer came, she turned to Arthur and lay a hand on his arm, nudging him towards the metal stairs, “Go on ahead and make sure the Cabin’s cross checked.”

“Right-o.” Arthur replied cheerfully, and obediently disappeared from her side; his feet on the steps could be heard clunking even as Deborah turned her back on him and ducked into the sparsely lit Hold.

It was hard to see, but Deborah could understand what Arthur had meant when he had said that there were a _lot_ of boxes; crates and steel containers were piled to the ceiling, and filled enough space that she had to tread quite far inside before her eyes fell on Martin, rocking on his heels as he surveyed the cargo, a clipboard and pen in his hands.

“Deborah.” Martin greeted her when she moved to his side, smiling down at her indulgently as if he had forgotten why he had called her in the first place; Deborah laced her arm through his and curled her hand around his elbow, enjoying the closeness, but didn’t cease from glancing around to find the source of his discontent, as there had to be one, “There you are.”

“Here I am.” Deborah repeated fondly, tilting her head back to meet his gaze, and take in the affectionate glint in his eyes; anyone would think that she never did as she was asked.

“Yes, hello.” Martin replied warmly, still gazing down at her; then he seemed to snap back into awareness, and was business-like once more, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders back, “Come look at the cargo.”

“Is it not stacked to your liking, Captain, or are you having trouble with your sums?” Deborah inquired daintily, nudging him gently in the side as she turned to do as she was asked, and ran her eyes over the hefty crates; as expected, nothing had changed in the last two minutes.

“As if you’d be any help with the calculations.” Martin snorted, his chest rumbling with restrained chuckles as Deborah let out an insulted little huff, and slipped her arm from his, winding both of hers instead around her chest.

“Excuse me.” Deborah said curtly; she gave Martin a moment to feel suitably sheepish, before she turned back to him and nodded towards the crates, “Right, I’m looking at the cargo Martin, and I’m not seeing anything wrong with it.”

“That’s because it’s dark, and Arthur’s stacked the wooden boxes in front of the glass boxes.” Martin explained matter-of-factly; despite the pointed glare that she was sending his way, he still reached around her carefully held arms to take her hand in his, which was enough to make her begin to forgive his attempt at teasing her, “Come round here, you can see better.”

Deborah allowed Martin to lead her around the corner that had been created by Arthur’s eclectic stacking, to where, just as he had promised, there sat a row of lowly piled boxes that appeared to be made of reinforced glass. It was too dark to properly see what was inside of them, so Deborah released Martin’s hand and stepped closer, bending down to peer inside, as she felt Martin do the same at her side.

“Oh…what are…” Deborah murmured, as she caught a flicker of movement inside the box nearest to her; the sun must have shifted outside, as a moment later a thin branch of light filtered over the top of the crates, and allowed her such a view, that she might actually have leapt back, placing her hands out in front of her like a useless barrier, “Oh, no, Martin! You know I don’t like creepy crawlies!”

The sight of the various, and many, creatures housed within the glass cases made Deborah’s stomach churn, and her bones themselves seemed almost as if they might freeze into stone and then retract if she moved any closer. From top to bottom of the pile, she couldn’t identify all of them, but Deborah could pick out at least four types of lizards, hundreds of winged creatures all bunking together, all manner of disgusting things like spiders that could eat her palm and scorpions, and then some other things that…she didn’t even want to imagine.

“I’m not asking you to touch them,” Martin remarked, placing a hand on her back; it was supposed to be comforting, but Deborah just wriggled as it felt like he was pushing her towards the creatures, “I’m just asking you to look at them.”

“Looking at them is making me feel as if I’m touching them.” Deborah retorted petulantly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to alleviate the phantom itching that had started up beneath her skin.

“It’s not that bad.” Martin snorted, and he stepped past her to stand beside the glass cages and tap at the glass, flinching when the animals touched the other side, but not moving away as he glanced back at Deborah, so obviously showing off.

“It is.” Deborah replied, but something about seeing Martin overcome his fears steeled her nerves; she came to stand at his side, and let him cover her hand with his, and bring it up to tap at the glass of various cages, like one would with a small child and hot things, “Well…I suppose the lizards aren’t too bad…and the butterflies are alright…” she pulled away as Martin tried to tap the box containing the scorpions, “I don’t like these shifty looking characters.”

“Why are there so many of them?” Martin inquired, going so far as to lean over the boxes to try and get a closer look, his face scrunching adorably as he did so.

“Arthur thinks our client’s a zookeeper.” Deborah answered thoughtfully, though she came no closer, content to let Martin explore; perhaps this once, Arthur was right in his suspicions, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he needed this many for some sort of research, or breeding programme.”

“Lovely…” Martin remarked, in a tone of voice that acknowledged that it was anything but; he stood straight once again, and retreated to a safe distance, using the hand not occupied by a clipboard to flatten the lapels of his jacket, “but that’s not why I asked you to come in here.”

“Yes, I was wondering why you asked me in here knowing full well that I wouldn’t like it.” Deborah drawled restrainedly, keeping one eye on the animals, which were now flustering about as if they knew they were being disturbed, and one eye on Martin.

“We need to move the animals inside the Cabin.” Martin declared, in the no nonsense voice he used when he _knew_ that Deborah was going to argue; his lips were pressed together, and in another world, he could have been balancing a lemon on his nose for how prim his expression was.

“No.” Deborah replied shortly; there was no chance that she was allowing that to happen.

“Not no,” Martin shot back, shaking his head and visibly fighting a smile at her expense, as if he were enjoying her discomfort, “because these are really delicate, and we need to strap them into the seats in the Cabin where Arthur can keep an eye on them, and not leave them in the Hold where they might get smashed and die.”

“Still no.” Deborah refused to budge on the matter; she folded her arms even more tightly over her chest as Martin tried to placate her by placing gentle hands on her elbows, “I don’t want these inside the plane.”

“Yes, well, that may be, but _I’m_ the Captain,” Martin said smugly, smirking as Deborah narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her lips, “and I’m having Arthur move these in the Cabin, whether you like it or not.”

“I’m your girlfriend, and I can refuse to let you sleep in my bed tonight.” Deborah retorted salaciously, cocking her head to the side; that normally worked, she was sure that it would this time.

“Brazil’s a hot country.” Martin remarked brightly, proudly, completely unaffected by her threat as he tapped his clipboard lightly against her nose, “That might not be a bad thing.”

“Fine.” Deborah gritted out, squaring her jaw and stubbornly glaring him down; if she wasn’t going to win this, then there was no point fighting at all, or helping for that matter, “But I’m going to wait in the flight-deck-”

“Hide in the flight-deck.” Martin sniped playfully, as he turned away from her to return to his inspection of the cargo.

“Wait in the flight-deck,” Deborah repeated, just a little louder and more clearly, as she glared at Martin’s back, “and get GERTI ready to go.”

“Alright.” Martin replied cheerfully, shooting her a pleasant smile over his shoulder, too full of himself to be anything other than a highly charged smirk, “Send Arthur out when you pass him.”

oOoOoOo

The flight-deck was humming, the engines were whirring calmly and waiting for a change to do their stuff; Deborah might have been against Martin and Arthur strapping the glass boxes to the passenger seats, but she had accepted that it was probably the most sensible idea, and it would keep Arthur occupied for most of the flight.

“Pre-take off checks complete?” Martin inquired professionally, glancing across the gap between them as he reached above his head and flicked a switch, pausing when he had done this to wait for her response.

“Complete, and waving us goodbye as we prepare in turn to bid them adieu.” Deborah replied, turning her head as she leant back against the hard padding of her seat to share a warm smile with her Captain; she was beginning to forgive him already, no matter what she had said before, unable to shake the tingling heat that wafted around her lungs just from the thought of him.

“Thank you, dear.” Martin hummed and grinned at her, and just like that she didn’t even need to forgive him anymore; he leaned forwards to hold down the intercom button, the smile lingering on his lips, “Arthur, are we ready to go?”

“ _No, not really Skip.”_ Arthur’s voice came through the speakers, and the flush faded from Martins’ cheeks at the tone of it.

“Well, why not?” Martin demanded, his eyebrows knitting in confusion as he hunched forwards with the force of it; a prickle of trepidation alighted in Deborah’s guts and her fingers clenched reflexively over the arms of her seat.

“ _Because there’s a bit of a problem. I um-”_ Arthur trailed off, the guilt evident in his voice.

“W-what sort of problem?” Martin asked, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself, not that it was doing any good.

“Arthur, what have you done?” Deborah inquired more forcefully when no answer came; knowing what she knew was in the Cabin, she couldn’t help but feel just a bit anxious at the thought of things going wrong.

 “ _Nothing on purpose.”_ Arthur explained hastily, his voice crackling as he presumably leaned away from the intercom in preparation for a scolding, _“But- I think…it’s a big enough problem that maybe you should turn the engines off and come and help me.”_

“Oh god, what do you think’s happened?” Martin asked, his voice filled with dread as he turned off the intercom and sat stiffly back in his seat, turning to Deborah with eyes full of horror and blanched cheeks.

“I dread to think.” Deborah muttered, quirking her eyebrows nonchalantly, though she didn’t feel it; they couldn’t just ignore his plea for help though, “Don’t switch everything off yet, let’s find out what tragedy awaits us.”

oOoOoOo

While Martin and Arthur stood on either side of a now suspiciously empty glass container, sans its lid, one red faced and furious, the other pale and guilty, hands wringing together, Deborah stood back from the two, arms folded over her chest, feet shifting every few seconds, and eyes darting up and down the aisle, unable to find what they were looking for.

“What do you mean it fell?” Martin demanded shrilly, gripping the edges of the container like a lifeline and his head turned from side to side, desperately trying to spot one of the creatures that had hidden in the time it had taken the pilots to enter the Cabin, “How does a heavy, glass box full of live animals just fall?”

“It wasn’t strapped in properly, and they were all moving so much that it fell off the seat.” Arthur explained indignantly, as he waved a hand through the air to encompass the chair and the box, and its previous path.

“Oh, Arthur-” Martin started to groan, but Arthur raised his hands in a sign of surrender and cut him off.

“No, it’s not awful, not like you make it sound.” Arthur interrupted, plastering on a hopeful smile as if optimism might get them through the day, “The box is still in one piece, we just need to find them and put them back inside.”

“Arthur, which animals were in this particular box?” Deborah inquired, as Martin sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation; after seeing which boxes were still full, she didn’t have high hopes.

“That would be the scorpions.” Arthur replied matter-of-factly, digging his hands into his pockets as he swayed on his heels.

“ _What!”_ Deborah exclaimed, as Martin made a sharp, shrill, high-pitched noise that might have been a squawk, or might have been a scream; as she scrambled backwards in a flash, hoisting her feet from the ground and settling with her knees pulled to her chest, Deborah heard a thud and a squeak as Martin leapt onto the seat of the opposite aisle, still standing, arms wrapped around the back of the seat.

There was a moment of complete silence, in which the three of them stared at the floor, Arthur not having moved at all, and then Deborah lifted her eyes to meet Martin’s; the initial flash of terror had faded, but she was still uncomfortable, like a niggle in her throat, and the slight smirk emerging on Martin’s lips didn’t help that.

“You know, Deborah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so fast.” Martin remarked smugly, his eyes tracing over her form as his smirk grew all the wider, regardless of her discomfort.

“Say that again when you’re not screaming like a little girl and wobbling on top of the seats.” Deborah drawled, wrinkling her nose at him from across the aisle; they could both play that game.

“Yes, alright!” Martin snapped, batting a hand at her and wobbling where he crouched; his eyes darted here and there, as if he could sniff out a scorpion from its lair through willpower alone, “I can’t see them, where are they?”

“Probably hiding under the seats, or in the walls, waiting for you,” Deborah replied darkly, smirking as his eyes blew wide and his hands gripped the back of the seat all the more tightly, “imagining the sweet taste of Crieff before they move in for the kill.”

“Deborah!” Martin exclaimed furiously, his cheeks flaring with exertion as he glared at her; he deserved it, she thought, for making fun of her.

“No, it’s alright guys.” Arthur announced, walking down the aisle between them, not a trace of fear in his posture as he held out the glass container for them both to see, “The box says that they’re not poisonous, or fatal- see, there’s no skull and cross bones either.”

“They still sting though, no matter how poisonous they are.” Deborah muttered, turning away from him to stare at the floor beneath Arthur’s feet, anticipating the appearance of the horrible, shelled creatures that she had seen before; nobody took any notice of her however.

“Arthur, this is very important, and I need you to answer me as best you can.” Martin spoke calmly and clearly, but he didn’t lower himself down from his chosen perch, “How many scorpions were there.”

“Um, more than I could fit in my hands,” Arthur answered, gazing into the middle distance in thought as he tried to remember; far too much of a strain for him, Deborah imagined, “and they shot off in all directions.”

“Okay, o-okay…” Martin let out a few, stuttering exclamations, and made a valiant attempt at steadying his breathing, “When I looked before, there were about ten- o-or maybe twenty.”

“What does it say on the box?” Deborah interjected, before he could go any further.

“Fifteen.” Arthur replied, coming closer and holding it out for her to read the label; he was right.

“Oh, wonderful.” Deborah groaned, rolling her eyes for the sake of having nothing else to do as she glare from one end of the Cabin to the curtain at the other end, still catching no glimpse of the creatures, “There are currently fifteen scorpions wandering unattended through the Cabin – and the Galley, now that I think about it.”

“Thank god the flight-deck seals shut.” Martin noted, sounding almost relieved, though Deborah couldn’t imagine what he had to be relieved about, seeing as they were currently trapped on the ground in a tin can filled with scorpions.

“Precisely.” Deborah agreed with a facsimile of cheer, plastering on a jaunty smile as she glared at Martin as if this were all his fault; in a way, it sort of was, “No tiny hijackers today; the CAA’s rules have finally proved their worth on GERTI.”

“Look!” Arthur exclaimed suddenly, throwing his hand out to point across the aisle, jumping as if startled; Deborah’s head snapped in tandem with Martin’s to follow the trail of his gesture, “There’s one, by your foot Deborah!”

Just like that Deborah’s eyes fell on the horrible brown creature that could have spanned her palm, scuttled past the feet that she hadn’t realised she had lowered to the floor; before she had time to think about it, she snatched her knees back up to her chest and then hopped onto her heels, letting out a muffled, truncated squeak.

The scorpion scuttled away, and Deborah settled back down, brushing her hair behind her shoulders and pressing her lips together as she met Martin’s eyes across the aisle; she hadn’t noticed at the time, but he must have reached out to her when she had startled because he was leaning across from his seat, hand outstretched as if for her to take.

Deborah didn’t know what he was trying to do, be it trying to help her or panicking and then freezing, but the concerned lilt of his features was enough to quell her annoyance, as his fingers flexed towards her; they might bicker and fight, but she knew that they loved each other enough that Martin could tell when she was genuinely upset, and try to put an end to it.

“Don’t you say a word.” Deborah warned him, even as she reached across to link her fingers with Martin’s, soaking in the faint smile that fluttered onto his lips; she hated the bloody animals so much, but she wasn’t going to admit to it.

“So…” the sound of Arthur’s voice, as he rocked on his heels and clasped his hands together, drew Deborah back to the present, “what are we going to do?”

“I’m…” Martin began, then stopped, his cheeks flushing as he ducked his head and gnawed on his lips; Deborah peered at him across the aisle for a moment, and was mildly surprised when he dropped her hand and squared his shoulders, pushing his hat a little more securely atop his head, “I’m going to do it.”

“Do what?” Deborah retorted, forehead pinching as she watched him inhale deeply and almost ground himself, slowly by surely lowering himself to the floor; miraculously, his luck didn’t fail him, and no vermin scuttled out to get him.

“I’m going to catch the scorpions.” Martin replied, adopting the poise of the stoic Captain that he thought he was; the picture would have been complete if his hands hadn’t been clenching at his sides.

“Why don’t you let Arthur do it?” Deborah suggested, trying not to sound as if she had little faith in him; she had a lot of faith in him…just not in this particular area, “He doesn’t seem afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.” Martin insisted, pouting dreadfully at the very implication; he took another deep breath, and looked to where Arthur was waiting on the tips of his toes for instructions, “Besides, he can’t catch them all himself, so one of us needs to be brave.”

“Is that what you are is it?” Deborah drawled, quirking an eyebrow at him as she remained thoroughly huddled on her own seat; this was ridiculous, he was only going to get himself stung, and then keep her awake all night complaining that it hurt.

“Yes, actually, I am very brave.” Martin replied indignantly, puffing out his chest as he spoke; the buttons stretched the material just a little bit more than they had a few months ago, but that was hardly something to complain about, “It’s part of being a Captain.”

“ _Golly_.” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes at him; some things never changed.

“Yes, golly.” Martin repeated, sticking his nose into the air and treading slowly to stand beside her row of seats, and extending his arm to her, “So, my first brave act is going to be helping sneak you across to the flight-deck before the scorpions catch us.”

“I don’t need hiding away if that’s what you’re implying.” Deborah retorted, surveying his arm and ignoring the temptation to take it; instead, she remained curled up as far into the cushioned seat as she could, arms wrapped around her knees.

“That’s not what I was implying.” Martin sighed, exhaling through his nose as if in despair, although a faint smile  began to reignite in his eyes; he knew by now how to reason past her own pride, “Someone needs to turn off the engines so that we don’t waste any more electricity or fuel.”

“Fine.” Deborah conceded; she sat forwards far enough that she could see Arthur, and could get her feet to the floor when she needed to, ignoring Martin’s victorious smirk, “Arthur, you can see down the aisle; is it clear?”

“Seems to be yeah.” Arthur answered, as he peered down the aisle, checking up and down just for good measure; he topped his check off with a swift nod, and moved to perch on the edge of one of the seats to throw her a quick thumbs up, “Good luck!”

“Okay-o-kay.” Martin began to splutter in anticipation, and he waved his hand at Deborah, ushering her to her feet and wrapping his arm around her back like a physical, albeit useless, barrier, “Here – Debs, come here, I’ve got you.”

“Oh, my knight in shining armour.” Deborah drawled sarcastically as she allowed him to hurry her along the aisle, stumbling slightly as he tripped and took her with him; it was too sweet an act for her to dissuade him, “What would I ever do without such a gallant Captain on my arm.”

“Shut up, I’m being nice.” Martin muttered as they neared the Galley; as if that was ever a reason not to tease him.

“That’s beside the point, oh brave and fearless Martin.” Deborah teased him, leaning up to press her lips fleetingly against his cheek; Martin stumbled to a  halt as he blinked down at her, apparently in shock that his actions were working.

“Um, chaps, not to worry you,” Arthur called out from behind them, “but I can see one behind you.”

“Ah!” Martin cried out, and without even looking over his shoulder, he was pushing Deborah forwards and through the Galley; as much as she didn’t want to be stung by scorpions, she couldn’t help but laugh as he screamed, “Run!”

oOoOoOo

Apparently all it took to stir up Martin’s innate courage was to lock him in a metal tube with a hoard of scorpions for an hour or two, and allow him to condition a fearless response in himself; Deborah only heard screams emanating from the Cabin for about twenty minutes before they were replaced by the sounds of clanging and cheers of triumph.

About half an hour after that, Deborah had grown bored, and deciding that she could survive the discomfort, braved the Galley and passed through to huddle on the front row of seats to watch Martin and Arthur rush from here to there, stumbling and making complete tits of themselves, and yet, getting the job done.

They had discovered, at some point when she had been gone, that by using the plastic jug Arthur used to make coffee, and one of the thin but sturdy table mats that Carolyn used to avoid having to wipe down the tray tables, they could catch the scorpions much like one would a spider in a cup, after, of course, stamping their feet and luring the beasts out from their hiding places.

Everything was going reasonably well until the Cabin door slammed open, and Carolyn appeared in the gap; thankfully, she pulled it closed behind her, but it was enough to make Arthur and Martin freeze like schoolboys caught with their hands in the someone else’s drinks cabinet.

“What are you still doing here!” Carolyn demanded, red faced and practically seething as she took in the scene before her, bereft of any understanding, “You were supposed to be in the air two hours ago!”

“No reason-” Martin began to explain, trying to hide the jug in his hands behind his back, but Arthur beat him to the punch.

“We’re catching scorpions.” Arthur supplied matter-of-factly, oblivious to the horror that crossed his mother’s face; on a scale of one to ten, this was definitely at least a thirteen in terms of awful things that had happened on board GERTI.

“You’re what?” Carolyn asked, blinking at the three of them as if ancient Greek had been thrown at her; as always, it was Deborah that her eyes fell to for an explanation, just as her gaping mouth sealed shut.

“Catching scorpions.” Deborah repeated, bringing herself forwards and slipping her legs through the gap underneath the seat’s arm, but not allowing her feet to touch the floor, “We thought it best not to let them roam free during the flight.”

“Why are they out in the first place?” Carolyn squawked, throwing her hands into the air; she didn’t make a fuss about it, but she did walk slowly into the Cabin and perch right on the edge of one of the seats, surreptitiously tucking her feet in.

“Uh…um…” Martin trailed off and ‘um-ed’ as his eyes wandered first over Arthur, then back to the floor, and then to Deborah, as if she might provide answers for his flapping mouth to seize; instead, he simply grasped what might have been the first thing to float through his head, “Technical problems.”

“Arthur dropped them didn’t he?” Carolyn asked expectantly, sighing with weary exasperation in her very breath as she watched the men begin to move again, tiptoeing up and down the aisle.

“No, I didn’t!” Arthur retorted, sending his mother as near to a glare as he could manage while wobbling like a stalk clumsily navigating a lake, arms held high on both sides, “They fell down on their own, I just didn’t stop them in time.”

“Either way, the result’s the same.” Deborah cut in before Carolyn could work herself up, “As it stands, there are two scorpions missing, and only one jug with which to catch them in.”

“It shouldn’t be too long though.” Martin assured her, passing his jug from hand to hand as he rocked on his heels and span around, hunting like a deaf and blind cat sniffing in all the wrong places, “I’m getting quite quick at catching them.”

“So am I.” Arthur chirped from the other end of the aisle, not that anyone paid him any notice.

“Yes…oh, there’s one!” Martin leapt into action as a scorpion scuttled out from beneath a seat in the centre of the aisle, and across his path; Deborah instinctively pulled her feet around to the front of her seat, but there was no need, as Martin slammed the jug down over it, trapping the creature within its translucent walls, “Got it!”

“Good, now put it away.” Carolyn huffed, eyeing the animal with barely restrained disgust; a cursory glance said enough about how tucked in the older woman was, and Deborah couldn’t help but smirk.

“Yes, uh…Arthur, where’s the mat?” Martin asked, keeping one hand atop the jug as he knelt down beside it and waved the other through the air, searching around him as if the mat might magically appear within his reach, “I need the mat.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Arthur replied, turning a quaint little circle as he inspected the area, “You had it last.”

“Well I put it down.” Martin retorted, sounding as if he were biting his tongue in order to hold back a scold; he dropped his head into his free hand and the tension in his shoulders relaxed just a pinch, “Find it for me please.”

While Arthur began to scramble around for the mat that one of them had misplaced, heading back in the direction of the Galley, Deborah sighed and looked away for a moment; only to glance down and see the scorpion lounging around underneath the seat in front of her.

“Oh- Oh – Martin!” Deborah _didn’t_ squeak as she yanked her feet onto her seat and pulled her legs tightly against her chest; unfortunately, the motion must have unsettled the creature, as it began making its way towards her, bereft of its kin’s fear as she tried to push back as far into the seat as was humanly possible, “Martin, there’s one here by me! It’s actually climbing to get to me!”

“I’ve only got one jug, you’ll have to wait!” Martin called, not nearly as worried as he should have sounded; not that Deborah could see his face, preoccupied as she was by trying to kick the scorpion away with the tip of her shoes.

“I don’t want to wait!” Deborah yelled, not bothering to fight the nagging need to move far, far away, but unable to actually do so, “Hurry up and kill it!”

“Don’t kill it!” Carolyn scolded her, though she could talk, nice and safe on the other side of the Cabin, not a reason in the world to be worried, “The client is expecting all of his animals to make it there in one piece, do _not_ kill it!”

“I’m sure he won’t mind if _one_ little scorpion gets squished.” Deborah remarked bitterly, as she gritted her teeth and inhaled sharply, collecting herself, “It deserves it for trying to – ah – for trying to bite me!”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Carolyn rolled her eyes dramatically, and Deborah could have very happily punched her in that moment, “This is the bloody spiders all over again.”

“They weren’t spiders!” Deborah hissed, spurred enough by the flare of anger in her chest to take her eyes from the scorpion that was merrily trying to crawl up the edge of the seat beside her, “They were big enough to be _vermin_!”

“I’ve got it Skip!” Arthur suddenly reappeared from within the Galley, waving a thin mat in his hand, and bounding towards where Martin was still crouched, pinning his trapped scorpion to the floor, “Here we go. Oh, Deborah, don’t kick the scorpion.”

“Thank you Arthur.” Martin chirped when the mat was delivered into his hand; slowly and carefully, he went about scooping the scorpion up and carrying it steadily to its box, before returning swiftly to do the same with the one that was still clambering towards Deborah, like the persistent, stubborn, _Martin_ , of the scorpion world, “See Deborah, I told you I would catch them all.”

“You left me to fend for myself.” Deborah snapped wanly as the beast was deposited, and the lid pressed firmly shut; now confident that she could place her feet on the floor, though still itching underneath her skin, her eyes followed Martin as he wandered back to stand beside her, one hand resting on the back of her seat.

“But I came through in the end.” Martin replied, a fond smile settling onto his face as he looked down at her; trust him to take pleasure from seeing her uncomfortable and miserable.

“I’ll consider this the benchmark of our relationship shall I?” Deborah inquired pithily, raising an eyebrow at him as she loosened the arms that were still wound around her chest; it was hard to stay mad at him when he looked at her like that.

“Why not?” Martin shrugged, his smile turning into a smug little grin as he straightened out his jacket and refastened his cuffs, “I’m sure I can do much better than _save_ you from a scorpion.”

“Please stop,” Carolyn demanded wearily, shaking her head and placing the tips of her fingers over her eyes, “this is making my head hurt even more than the knowledge that you’re going to be stupidly late when you arrive in Brazil.”

“Surely the man won’t mind though.” Arthur reasoned, as he lowered himself into one of the seats and looked between the three of them, ever the optimist, “All he’ll care about it that his scorpions are safe.”

“He won’t know, because you won’t tell him that they were ever unsafe.” Carolyn instructed, making sure to glare pointedly at all three of them before she dared relieve her expression of the well masked exasperation.

“In short Arthur, I will do the talking, and you and Martin can unpack and deal with the animals.” Deborah interjected, patting her knees down before she rose to her feet, rolling her shoulders back with a click from the time that she had spent hunched over.

“If you were looking for a benchmark Martin, that was it.” Carolyn remarked dryly, looking between the two of them, “Deborah does all the talking but you’ll be the one doing the heavy lifting.”

“Yeah, well…that’s not so bad.” Martin replied, as he slipped an arm around Deborah’s waist, pulling her close enough that he was a comfortable weight against her side; his cheeks flushed faintly as his cheek came to rest against her hair, “I think it works quite well.”

oOoOoOo

“Today has taught me so many things.” Martin sighed, as he lay back on the double bed and let Deborah wander around the hotel room, closing the curtains, kicking the flight-bags into corners where they couldn’t be tripped over; his arms were outstretched either side of him, like wings, and when Deborah dropped down beside him, he hooked one around her waist, pulling her down to lie on her side.

“Oh really?” Deborah drawled indulgently, quirking her eyebrows at him playfully as she propped herself up on her elbow, and traced her fingers through his hair, relishing how he preened under her attentions, tipping his head back with each stroke, “Apart from how to catch a scorpion in under a minute?”

“It’s taught me that even the scariest, most intimidating and hardy creature, has a beautiful inside and is really just a gentle, calm, peaceful thing, that should be marvelled at for the intricacies of its species.” Martin explained, picking at her shirt and using his free hand to try and catch hers, winding their fingers together.

“You’re not having a scorpion.” Deborah told him immediately; there were some things that just weren’t going to happen.

“Oh, god no! I don’t want one.” Martin insisted hastily, sitting up just a little as his eyes widened and he drew his bottom lip through his teeth, “That’s not what I meant; it’s just that for something so sharp, and dangerous looking, they’re really perfectly lovely once you know how to handle them, and get to understand them.”

“You’re looking at me when you say that.” Deborah remarked sharply; it was true, his eyes were _still_ tracing the lines of her face, “Martin, I dearly hope that you’re not trying to be romantic by comparing me to a bloody scorpion.”

“I’m not…” Martin replied, his lips pouting ever so slightly as he trailed off.

“Oh _really_ , that’s a relief.” Deborah pretended to gasp, even as she rolled her eyes; then again, she though as Martin nodded in acceptance and let their hands fall, the fluttering in her chest was still very much present, and very particular in the fashion of the cartwheels that the moths were making, “But, you know…you were _very_ brave today.”

“You think so?” Martin asked brightly, his expression easing once again in moments; he really was wonderfully easy to please. No pretending or falsification needed to keep him happy and content.

“Yes, of course.” Deborah assured him, placing her hand on his chest and smiling indulgently down at him, “You were fearless; just what I needed.”

“Thank you.” Martin replied smugly, oh so proud of himself as he settled back down on his back, happy to just lie there together; Deborah however had other ideas, and sat back in his embrace, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and rising to her feet.

“I think I’m going to go and have a shower.” Deborah remarked nonchalantly, grinning as she watched Martin rise up on his elbows at the loss of contact.

“Oh, alright.” Martin nodded, sounding almost disappointed as his eyes followed her as she crossed the room towards the bathroom; she allowed him to disappear from sight for only a moment as she stepped inside, then curled her fingers around the frame, poking her head back out to see him flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“I wouldn’t mind the company.” Deborah announced suggestively, waiting patiently for him to catch on.

“ _Oh_ …” Martin exclaimed on a breath, and he seemed to rise like Dracula from his coffin until he could smile in wonder at her from across the room; the next moment he was a flurry of movement, almost rolling from the bed in a tangle of sheets that he hadn’t even been in, “Give me one moment.”

“The longer you take the more you miss.” Deborah drawled, and with that, she ducked back into the bathroom, beaming as she heard his thudding and tripping in the other room; one glance in the mirror showed that she was looking fine, her smile far too wide for propriety’s sake.

“No, Debs – Deborah!” Martin called, his voice petering off into a chuckle as Deborah began to giggle at the sight of the him falling in a tangle of limbs through the door in the mirror, knocking her gently towards the sink as he wrapped his arms around her from behind; all things considered, it hadn’t been a bad day after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It had been a while since they had had a flight that could be considered boring, but this one was remarkably dull, even by MJN’s standards; Deborah wouldn’t have minded the cargo flight so much if Martin had actually been in the flight-deck with her, but he wasn’t. He was somewhere in the Cabin, talking on the phone, and had been for a while now; she wasn’t entirely sure what about, but she didn’t want to dig too deep in case he became defensive as he was wont to do.

Martin had been shifty for about a week now; it was nothing to worry about, nothing more than one of his odd moods, of that Deborah was certain. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel jarred by it. If he had been in a bad mood, and been miserable, or angry, actively shunning her, she might have understood, and given him space before confronting him; but Martin wasn’t, and Deborah didn’t know how to deal with a Martin that was treating her perfectly, smiling and laughing, soaking up her attentions, and yet not quite there.

Perhaps he was just upset, or feeling the stress of running a company with only three colleagues and another job on the side…that was probably it. Either way, it still left Deborah alone in the flight-deck, slouched back in her seat with her legs kicked up on the control panel, crossed at the ankle, desperately grasping at ways to entertain herself.

The engines were humming and ready to be tended to, the lights were flashing, and nothing had fallen off yet (that Deborah hadn’t fixed in seconds); all that was left to do was play with the intercom, and hope that Carolyn or Arthur were bothered enough by it to come and bother _her_.

“Greetings passengers, this is your First Officer speaking. _Don't Stop Me Now_ , because _You And I_ need to talk about our flight today.” Deborah drawled, smirking to herself as she spoke; she had spent ages working on this, so it was a pleasure to hear it crackling through the Cabin behind her, “You may think that what I'm saying is like some sort of _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , all _Radio Ga Ga_ , and you'd rather be in a _Bicycle Race_ than rushing _Headlong_ through the skies, but _Hang On In There_ , because _We Are the Champions_ of air travel at MJN, and we have _One Vision_ of how our flights should proceed.”

When no response came from the rest of the crew, Deborah continued, flicking idly at the loose button just above her right arm.

“You may be afraid of flying, of being _Under Pressure_ so high in the sky. You may want to scream, _Save Me_ , and believe that soon you'll be weeping as _Another One Bites The Dust_.” Deborah purred, playing the part of dutiful host even with a Cabin bereft of passengers to hear it, “But never fear, because our chief Steward Carolyn Knapp-Shappey is like a _Lily Of The Valley_ , ready to cure your fears with _A Kind Of Magic_ that only she knows, and Arthur Shappey shall be like _The Invisible Man_ , helpful, but unseen because _Too Much Love Will Kill You.”_

“Of course, there will be turbulence. _We Will Rock You_ , but honestly; _Who Wants To Live Forever?”_ Deborah announced, spurred on by the lack of response; they were ignoring her, and that couldn’t be allowed, “You may notice during the flight that Ms Knapp-Shappey is particularly distracted, but I can assure you that that is simply a _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_ , as she awaits her partner's return to sunny Blighty, _God Save The Queen_.”

“It may also come to your attention that the Captain and I are particularly close, but what can I say? _It's Funny How Love Is_ , and _Friends Will Be Friends_ ; we all need _Somebody To Love_ , you know, one that makes you say things like, _You're My Best Friend_ , and _You Take My Breath Away.”_ Deborah mustered up her most dramatic tone of voice to conclude, “But, alas, I'm sure you're all waiting for the _Hammer To Fall_ on my little speech, or think that _I'm Going Slightly Mad_ , that _I Want to Break Free_. The truth is, _I Want It All_ ; a safe and enjoyable flight to Stockholm, free of emergencies. So, on behalf of all of my crew, I wish you a happy flight, and pass you over to the cabin crew.”

A moment passed, and then the speakers crackled, and Deborah listened with a smile on her face to Carolyn’s exasperation; finally, some sort of response to fend off the boredom that she was experiencing.

“ _Thank you Deborah.”_ Carolyn sighed down the intercom, beautifully irritated by her game; maybe she would come to the flight-deck and debate with her face to face, _“That would have been lovely if we actually had any passengers.”_

“Did Martin hear it?” Deborah inquired nonchalantly; she had hoped that he would hear her various platitudes and recall his affections for her, abandon his phone call to come and spend time with her instead of arranging whatever he was arranging.

“ _Yes, and he’s grinning like an idiot.”_ Carolyn replied dryly; there was something in her tone that told Deborah that she wouldn’t be gaining her company quite yet, _“He’s still on the phone though, which means we_ can’t take off!”

“Alright.” Deborah groaned, kicking her feet down from the control panel; what was the point in even trying when the rest of them were too busy to spare her even a moment of their time, “Tell him I’ve got her ready to fly.”

Carolyn didn’t answer, and the intercom clicked silent; back to the drudgery then. Deborah was forced to endure only a few moments more alone though, before the door to the flight-deck swung open; of course, she mused, she shouldn’t have underestimated Arthur so. The thought of him adhering to his work and staying in the Cabin shouldn’t have even crossed her mind.

“Wow Deborah, that was brilliant!” Arthur declared as he rounded the jump-seat and came to perch on the edge of the Captain’s seat; his hand appeared from where he had been hastily stashing a towel probably used to wipe down the flat surfaces, and he rested both on the arms of the seat, leaning in as if to give her his full attention.

Now that was more like it.

“Thank you, Arthur.” Deborah replied, smiling proudly as she sat up straight and crossed one leg over the other, adopting a more professional posture; at least someone still appreciated her wit enough to indulge her, “I put a lot of effort into that.”

“Yeah, it sounded like you did.” Arthur exclaimed, his face lit up with just the right amount of impressed as he smiled at her; Deborah shifted around just enough that they could talk without having to turn at each word, folding her arms loosely over her chest, “Did I hear some Queen songs in there?”

“Twenty Nine.” Deborah informed him briefly, sighing a little at the ripple of dejection that formed in her guts; it was nice to gloat with Arthur, but it would have been nicer to share her success with Martin, had he been there, “You should write that down, I think that’s a record for any of my games.”

“Will do.” Arthur chirped, though he didn’t make any move to do so, so presumably he would forget to do it later; his gaze wandered as he tried to recall and the corners of his lips pinched in thought, “I don’t think any of us have gotten more than twenty five before.”

“And Martin isn’t even here to bask in my radiance.” Deborah remarked wanly, letting her eyes drop to trace the arm of Arthur’s chair and the mottled state of his buttoned cuffs, which looked and smelled as if they might have been stained with lemon cleaning fluid; she was self-aware enough to know that she shouldn’t have been feeling so dejected now that she had her wish of entertainment, “Is he finished on the phone yet?”

“No, he wasn’t when I passed through the Cabin.” Arthur replied; then he seemed to sense the droop in Deborah’s demeanour, and his voice dropped imperceptibly, and he hunched forwards just that little bit more, eyebrows dipping in the centre, “Who’s he talking to?”

“I’m not sure.” Deborah answered honestly, glancing towards the back of the flight-deck for just a second, as if Martin might walk through at any moment, “Someone from the hotel I think, though why he needs to call ahead is beyond me.”

“You don’t believe him?” Arthur asked cautiously, and Deborah almost startled at the sincerity in his voice; in anyone else she might have called it a flash of perception, but, seeing as it was Arthur, and that he was wrong, she simply smiled fleetingly, and then swallowed her falsity when it obviously didn’t convince him.

“Oh no, I believe him; Martin’s atrocious at lying to me.” Deborah assured him, deciding to forgo trying to sound cheerful as she picked at the side of her thumb and avoided Arthur’s gaze; it was true, there was no reason to suspect that Martin, who was the most decent man that she had ever met, was doing anything untoward, “I’m just worried about him, that’s all.”

“Why?” Arthur inquired, perplexed, as if he couldn’t imagine a reason why she and Martin might need to be worried; for all she knew, he might have actually been that optimistic. The evidence certainly pointed towards such a conclusion.

“He’s been a bit preoccupied this week.” Deborah explained drearily, trying to sound as if it were less of a concern than it really was; she had tried not talking to people before, and it hadn’t worked, but even though she was willing to share, she didn’t want Arthur of all people to end up fretting about _her_ , “I thought that maybe Icarus wasn’t doing so well, but it’s thriving with some sort of divorce boom this time of year.”

“Is he ill?” Arthur continued, his concern sounding more like curiosity than anything else; he was trying his best to meet Deborah’s gaze, tilting his head this way and that, but she ignored him, “Because sometimes when Skip isn’t feeling well he pretends that he is and ignores the rest of us.”

“I know he does.” Deborah sighed, slumping back against the hard pads of her seat; she wasn’t sure whether she wanted Martin to march in and interrupt or not, or whether she even wanted to know what was wrong with him, “He’s not ill though, I checked. I think he’s just in one of those moods…you know, the moods that people get into sometimes.”

“Like the ones where they’re not happy or sad, they’re just…” Arthur added helpfully, trailing off when Deborah turned her head to lay her cheek against the back of her seat, and to meet his gaze.

“Exactly.” Deborah agreed drearily, quirking her eyebrows for good measure; sometimes the world just didn’t feel quite right, and there was nothing that could be done but to shrug shoulders and carry on, and hope that things got back to normal snappish.

“I’m sure he’s fine though.” Arthur assured her, batting a hand through the air before folding it back over his knees, using it to prop himself up; somehow, that seemed to set him up perfectly for his next bout of uncertain interrogation, his expression vacillating as if he knew what to say, but wasn’t sure if he should say it, “Are you fine?”

“I’m always fine, Arthur.” Deborah replied shortly; when she saw the way that his expression drooped just a little, the rush of guilt to her stomach made her sit a little straighter, to lean against the centre arm of her seat, and smile as best as she could, “Thank you, though, regardless.”

“Naw, you’re welcome.” Arthur shot back, grinning as if the gesture were put on specifically for her sake; after a moment, he glanced away from her, his hand shifting to flick carelessly at what was mercifully the dud switch that she and Martin had taped up without really knowing what it was.

“So, Arthur…” Deborah started, then stopped and cleared her throat awkwardly as his eyes flicked back to hers, and he waited patiently for her to continue, a faint hum of recognition his only sound; she had wanted entertainment, and here he was, but Deborah had been nothing but a misery; it was time to rectify that, “Is anything interesting happening in your life lately? It’s been a while since I caught up.”

“No, not really.” Arthur replied, shrugging as if it were no matter; but his voice took on that airy edge that Deborah had learnt to doubt in recent years, “My life’s the same as ever, mostly.”

“No girls?” Deborah inquired softly; if she was honest with herself, she was starting to worry about Arthur. He was as cheerful as ever, of course, and seemed to have no problem with the way that his life was going, but now that she was with Martin, and Carolyn was…something with Herc, it was a little troubling to see someone as lovely as Arthur alone.

Not alone…he had _them_. He deserved more, but he wasn’t alone, per say.

“No.” Arthur remarked regretfully, ejecting a puff of air through his lips like a shoddy lone ranger; just like that, Deborah realised that this would be the same sort of talk that they had once held in an empty bar in Ireland, “Mum says that I should go out and meet some, but I know what she means, and that’s not really…it’s not the sort of thing I’m good at.”

“No, it’s not is it.” Deborah agreed solemnly, letting the corners of her lips curl encouragingly, as she lifted her hand to bump against his; Arthur may have been cherished lovingly by the three of them at MJN, but she was well aware that he wasn’t adapted to the harshness of the real world; it would be a shame to taint his happy world view by forcing ‘normality’, “There aren’t any other ways of meeting people? Points of common interest perhaps?”

“Well, yeah, that’s a good idea, but…” Arthur started to explain, but he couldn’t quite finish, and simply trailed off again, looking helplessly into Deborah’s eyes until she felt uncomfortably like the brown orbs were begging her to make it better; maybe that was just her own flawed perception of her role talking.

“Your social life’s not exactly thriving.” Deborah concluded for him; she couldn’t exactly lie for him.

“No.” Arthur replied shortly, pouting just a tad as if he were disgruntled with his own social ineptitude; as sad as it was, it was true that what made Arthur so special, his rare ability to see the good in everything, and his startling perception for the moral good, was also what aided his isolation. Arthur Shappey, Deborah mused, was one of those acquired tastes that no one even tried because the colours were too blinding.

“What you need Arthur, is for a nice woman to fall from the sky.” Deborah remarked wryly, smirking genuinely at him as she leaned across to thwack his elbow again, drawing him from his stupor before he could truly sink into it.

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed, exhaling as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, propped in turn with his chin on his open palms, “But gently, so that she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“Hmmm.” Deborah hummed fondly and sat back comfortably in her seat, hand still hanging in the air between them as she twirled it idly, “I know for a fact that there’s a certain type of woman that would be blown away when you say things like that.”

“Really?” Arthur’s face lit up momentarily, and he seemed to inflate somewhat like a balloon at the idea; that was more like it.

“Yes.” Deborah assured him; this was quite nice actually, sitting like a knowledgeable queen in her pilot’s seat and distributing her wisdom with a smile and a relaxed swing in her limbs, “Even I can appreciate that you’re a sweetheart, if not anywhere near my type.”

“Thank you.” Arthur replied, though he didn’t seem quite so sure about whether she meant it.

“I mean it.” Deborah promised seriously; she thought for a moment, and came up with nothing that might comfort him, which only served to steel her determination all the more, “Oh, there’s got to be some way that _I_ could find someone for you, and just point them in your direction.”

“Has your social life become more thrilling lately?” Arthur inquired sweetly; in anyone else, it might have been facetious, but Deborah decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, as his gaze didn’t falter.

“I’m going to assume that you’re being simple not smarmy.” Deborah remarked dryly, schooling her expression which seemed to be wavering between a smirk and a frown.

“I’m not being rude.” Arthur assured her quickly, waving his palms through the air in a universal sign of surrender, “It’s just, the last I knew, even though you’re _amazing_ at bars and around lots of people, you don’t actually _do_ all of those things. You hang out with me, and with Skip; mostly with Skip, but with me too.”

“Yes, I understand.” Deborah stopped him before he could ramble much longer; there was only one thing that she could think of to help him, and although usually she would have discarded the thought, lately, she could use the distraction, “Arthur, if you really want to go out and meet people, then I would be happy to go with you and be social.”

“You mean like at a bar?” Arthur replied, his forehead crinkling in bewilderment as he visibly tried to process the idea.

“Not necessarily.” Deborah elaborated, already feeling her flash of inspiration begin to crumble under her own inspection, as she curled her hand through the air, little concentric circles giving her time to formulate sentences, “I’m sure there are social things in Fitton…book clubs?...societies?...quaint pubs where the regulars all know each other…”

On second thoughts, that was a terrible idea, and Arthur was fine how he was; the very last thing that Deborah wanted to be doing with her time was trawling around Fitton trying to fit in with people that she had never held any interest in before.

“Yeah…” Arthur nodded slowly, but he didn’t sound convinced; thank the lord for small mercies, Deborah mused, “I’ve seen them, but it looks like you already have to be part of them to get in.”

“Like cults.” Deborah remarked, staring at the edge of the control panel as she recalled the few political gatherings, and large groups of people that she had actually witnessed in her many years living in Fitton, “That’s the only problem with small towns like Fitton; unless you were born here and never left, you’re on your own.”

The door to the flight-deck swung open with a swish, and as Deborah turned to peer over the back of her seat, it was to see Martin striding in, head down as he slipped his phone into his pocket; Arthur rose to his feet immediately, and began slipping through the gap between the seats, and it wasn’t until they were level that Martin lifted his chin.

“Oh, hello you two.” Martin greeted them, a smile making its way onto his lips for only a moment before he was overcome with preoccupation and focused on Deborah, guiding Arthur past him with a waved hand, tripping slightly on his abandoned flight-bag, “Ready to go?”

“That we are, Captain.” Deborah replied brightly, earning a quick nod as he dropped into his seat and began inspecting the controls; she tore her eyes from his faintly flushed face, swallowing a trickle of regret, and turned to catch Arthur’s attention before he disappeared into the Galley, “Arthur, think about what I said, alright?”

“Alright.” Arthur promised, nodding thoughtfully and smiling gratefully as he turned on his heel and stepped backwards through the open door, “Thanks Deborah.”

With that the door swung shut and Deborah settled back into her seat, only to find Martin peering at her curiously, biting down on his bottom lip as he tried to appear that he wasn’t as interested as he really was.

“What was that about?” Martin asked evasively; although his head was turned towards her, the rest of him was stiffly facing forwards, one hand curled around yoke. It was obvious that even though he had spent the past hour on his own, he was itching not to be left out of what had been going on elsewhere.

“Arthur’s dreary social life.” Deborah answered dramatically, releasing her poised posture and shifting until she was sat, back against her seat, ready to fly if needs be; she quirked her eyebrows at him, smiling wanly, hoping that this meant he was back to talking _normally_ to her, rather than skirting around a subject and then petering into silence as he had been recently, “It’s reaching _our_ levels of dreariness.”

“O-our life isn’t dreary.” Martin insisted, his eyes blowing wide as his eyebrows leapt to his hairline; he was unusually frantic as he said it, and Deborah couldn’t help but wonder what had got him so worked up, like he was resting on a string pulled taut, “We go out all the time, all over the world.”

“We barely spend time with other people.” Deborah remarked fairly, cocking her head to the side as Martin still didn’t relax, the tension in his shoulders actually increasing, until she was fighting the impulse to reach across and ease the knots herself.

“B-but we spend time with Carolyn, and Arthur, a-and with the grounds crew occasionally, a-and every now and then a foreign person talks to us.”  Martin stuttered, worryingly nervous for what on any other day would have been a conversation founded on teasing and frivolity, “W-why, are you unhappy?”

“What?” Deborah retorted, her expression pinching as she sat a little straighter, hands curling around the arms of her seat; that wasn’t what she meant at all, not even a little bit, and Martin couldn’t be allowed to think that for a moment, “No, I’m not unhappy, Martin, it was just a passing remark. If anything, being private people means that what might be social events for some turn into _romantic_ events; we couldn’t do that if it wasn’t just the two of us, now could we?”

There hadn’t be any signs that there was something wrong with their relationship, not this time round, but Deborah’s chest clenched and fluttered uncomfortably at how jumpy Martin seemed, even as he visibly made an effort to calm himself.

“N-no, I suppose not.” Martin replied, plastering on a strained smile and blushing; he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, knocking his hat forwards on his head, and stilled imperceptibly, though he continued to fidget, “Sorry, I just got worried then – n-not worried, I just, I-I-I, if you wanted to do more _things_ , l-like…um…uh…social things…uh…”

“No, Martin, I don’t want to.” Deborah assured him hastily, reaching across the gap between them to take his hand and hold it, squeezing firmly, so that there couldn’t be a flicker of doubt in his mind as to how she felt, “If anything, I get out of the house _more_ since we got together than I did when I was on my own.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” Martin murmured, once he had stared into her eyes for a moment that felt like a lifetime; she didn’t know what he was looking for, or why he looked so confused, the bridge of his nose crinkling adorably, but that had to be good enough for now, “Um, post take-off checks?”

oOoOoOo

Half an hour into the flight, and despite Deborah’s many attempts to get Martin to take part in her game, he remained worryingly detached, responding to her pleasantly, only to drift off into thought immediately, gazing wordlessly into the sky with a little crease sitting at the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t as if Martin was ignoring her; he replied to everything that Deborah said to him. Then he stopped and went back into his own little bubble of a world, that apparently she wasn’t allowed to be a part of. That was what was so upsetting; Deborah tried to quash the niggling of discomfort in her guts, but she just couldn’t.

The best thing about Martin was that he was _always_ talking to her, be the subject matter good or bad, he was almost never silent; the odd lack of communication was eerily familiar, and she didn’t like it. But rather than suspect Martin of the crimes that her previous partners had committed, her trust in him complete despite his general incompetence, Deborah instead sat and mulled over the churning in her abdomen that said _she_ must have being doing something wrong.

“Martin, are you alright?” Deborah inquired tentatively, when the strain of waiting for some sign became too much; she glanced briefly at his face, long enough to see the look of surprise flash across his cheeks, before she focused on the flashing of the controls under her hands.

“Yes.” Martin replied quickly, his shock genuine; there was no doubt about that, nor in the way his fidgeting ceased and he turned to stare at her, confusion pinching every inch of his face, as if she had sprouted wings in front of him, “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“Good…good.” Deborah muttered, aiming for nonchalance but missing entirely; that left only one reason for Martin’s distance from her, and it was better to talk it through before she could lose the nerve; she and Martin were good at talking, “So…am I doing something wrong?”

“What?” Martin sounded as if she had spoken the most shocking thing known to man, and stared at her in disbelief; she didn’t lift her gaze, but could feel his eyes on her, and his hand hovering inches above hers, “No, of course you’re not! Why would you even think that?”

“Because, and forgive me if I’m wrong, you’ve been a little…” Deborah sighed, and lifted her chin, meeting Martin’s gaze and instantly choking on a surge of guilt at the light in his eyes that threatened to topple over the precipice into hurt, “Distant this week.”

“Have I? I-I didn’t mean to.” Martin spoke slowly, and carefully, and Deborah schooled her expression as she watched the emotions wash over his face; then he stared into the middle distance, ‘oh-ing’ as if in understanding, and slumped back into his seat hard enough to make her jump, throwing his palms over his face to let out a groan, “Oh, _god_ , I’m _sorry_ – you’re not doing anything wrong, I promise. I love you so much, you’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Okay…alright…” Deborah said softly, hurriedly, nudging the controls and then leaning across the gap between them to place a soothing hand on Martin’s upper arm; at her touch he dropped his hands onto the arms of his seat, and turned his head, hat tipping atop it as he rested against the back of his seat, “Then what’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter.” Martin groaned hopelessly, he slipped his arm from her grasp and clasped the same hand around hers, winding their fingers together and blinking imploringly at her, “Deborah, honestly, there’s nothing wrong.”

“Then what-” Deborah started, before Martin could cut her off; there _was_ something wrong, that much was obvious, and he _knew_ what it was. He just wasn’t telling her.

“I’m…there’s a lot on my mind at the moment.” Martin explained wearily; he made it sound as if that were a weight off his chest, but Deborah thought that he had simply shifted it onto hers, “That’s all.”

“Things that you can’t share with me?” Deborah asked curtly, trying her best to hide the prickle of a pout that threatened to appear on her lips; it wasn’t the law that he shared everything with her, even if she wished it so.

“N-n-no I _can_ share – I _will_ share.” Martin assured her, giving her hand a little squeeze and smiling as if it were good to be sharing; if only he actually _was_ sharing, the humming of the engines wouldn’t seem like such an invasion on their space, “Just, not yet, g-give me a little while, then I’ll fill you in.”

“Okay.” Deborah replied, possibly a bit too quickly; if he didn’t want to tell her, then he didn’t have to. That was fine, she wouldn’t nag; let him keep his secrets…it couldn’t be too bad, he wasn’t talented enough to lie to her for any length of time.

“Debs, honestly, everything’s alright.” Martin insisted, clearly not getting the message that she was sending as she turned until she was facing the sky, and ran her eyes over the control panel, pretending to check the meters, “I promise, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried.” Deborah retorted, pulling her hand from his under the guise of tapping the altimeters.

“If you say so.” Martin muttered, exhaling audibly and retracting his hand, as if it were her that was being strange, “I promise, we’re fine.”

“And I believe you.” Deborah replied shortly, turning back to shoot him a stiff smile, tucking her hair behind her shoulders and settling back as well as she could; she did believe him. She had no doubt that he was deep in thought about something or other, and that if he said he would tell her, then he would…that didn’t make it any easier to accept that and put her own pride aside.

“Really?” Martin asked, blue eyes boring hopefully into hers, as his fingers rapped nervously on the controls; oh, it was horrible of him to hold such sway over her…but the fluttering it instilled in her chest still held that familiar warmth that she rather liked.

“Really.” Deborah informed him, sighing and letting her eyes flutter closed before she met Martin’s gaze, smiling as genuinely as she could this time, “We’re alright.”

“Good, yes we are.” Martin agreed, in his Captainly voice, nodding and then falling silent; the silence only lasted for a moment though, as this time he fidgeted and shot her sideways glances; apparently her words had had an impact, “Right…wh-what was the game you had going?”

oOoOoOo

Normally it was Martin’s job to sort out the arrival at the airport; talking to the managers, ordering more fuel, all of those sorts of things were the Captain’s job according to him, and he had done them on each flight that he had been on since the start of his employment. Not today however; today he had told Deborah that he had to run ahead to sort something out, and now she was ticking off the finishing touches and dismissing the grounds crews, with no Captain in sight.

“Where’s Martin gone _now_?” Carolyn demanded as she sidled up to Deborah, watching the manager turn his back and walk away; apparently she wasn’t the only one to notice the odd edge to Martin’s behaviour. The last hour of the flight had gone pleasantly, and Martin had been his usual chatty self; however, that did nothing to alleviate the uncomfortable chill in the pit of Deborah’s lungs.

“He’s run ahead to the hotel to ‘finalise’ things.” Deborah replied wanly, folding her arms over her chest; then she paused instead of stepping away, and turned to glare, eyebrows knitted, down at Carolyn, “Why _is_ he in charge of the hotel today? I thought that was your job.”

“Oh, I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care.” Carolyn remarked flippantly, straightening her suit jacket out, although it was barely out of place from watching the cargo get unloaded; when she clocked the expression on Deborah’s face, her tone softened slightly, as if she were excusing herself, “He asked and I let him. One less thing for me to do.”

“I care.” Deborah pouted, glancing towards where Arthur was emerging from within GERTI when Carolyn’s stare became too unsettling; she didn’t shuffle her feet, but it was extremely tempting, “He’s left me to sort out all of _his_ normal jobs.”

“You mean the calculations and ordering more fuel?” Carolyn snorted, cocking an eyebrow and surveying Deborah’s petulant posture; she shook her head and smirked with a sour enjoyment, the sort that she always got when she thought that Deborah was flailing, “I think it’s wonderful seeing you scrunch your face up as you try and force Martin’s menial tasks through your brain.”

“I’m perfectly capable.” Deborah retorted, rolling her eyes and fixing her expression and blinking back at the older woman; it was a terrible habit that the others had gotten into, doubting her abilities and teasing _her_ for once, “I _was_ doing all of this on my own when I was your only employee.”

“I remember those days…” Carolyn remarked nostalgically, grinning sadistically and gazing into the distance, a hand over her heart, “MJN was at its most sluggish and debt ridden.”

“I’m done with the hovering.” Arthur announced as he appeared at Carolyn’s shoulder, before Deborah could do much more than scrunch her nose up and sneer at her; he seemed as proud of his task as he ever did, and oblivious to Deborah’s disdain, “Are we heading to the hotel now?”

“I don’t know.” Carolyn replied cheerfully, placing her hands in her pockets and shifting to fall into place beside Arthur, “Are we finished Deborah, or do you need more time to do your sums?”

“We’re done here.” Deborah sighed, taking one last look at the bustling hangar; there was no point putting off the inevitable, “Let’s go and see how much damage Martin’s managed to cause on his own.”

oOoOoOo

Deborah’s day just kept getting odder, and by now, she would be perfectly happy just getting into bed and going to sleep; it would be so much easier if Martin was either treating her well, or badly, but as it was, she had no idea how she was supposed to be reacting to him. It wasn’t that she wanted to fight…but it would be simpler to sort out in the long run.

The moment that they had entered the hotel lobby, Martin had rushed to her side, grinning and rocking on his heels, his cheeks flushed with the excitement that he was practically vibrating with; he handed Carolyn and Arthur their room keys, and then took Deborah’s flight-bag from her against her protests, throwing it over his shoulder and taking her hand in his, entwining their fingers and pulling her towards the lift.

She had tried to ask him what was going on, but Martin had simply brushed her off; it wasn’t even like Deborah could complain, as he was being warmer to her than he had been in a week, to the point where the aura of affection surrounding him was tangible, warming her from the centre of her chest as he fiddled with her hair, standing behind her and massaging her shoulders almost subconsciously.

The one thing that Deborah could complain about was the way that Martin’s hands moved to cover the upper half of her face the moment that the lift doors swished open; her own hands had darted up to pull his back enough that only his long fingers covered her eyes, but Martin’s frantic and comforting murmuring and stuttering in her ears stopped her from spoiling whatever it was that he was doing.

Whatever he was doing…at the moment, his plan, whatever it was that he had been thinking over for the best part of a week now, seemed to involve a lot of tripping and bumping into walls, which was enough to stop her from truly lowering her arms, so Deborah allowed Martin to guide her half way down the hall, the tips of her fingers pressing small points into his wrists, before saying another word, while Martin kept up a litany of ‘this way’, ‘here’, ‘there’, ‘that’s it’.

“Martin, that’s the third time you’ve tripped me up since the lift.” Deborah noted as her elbow caught on another corner, and Martin stumbled into her back, only managing to keep their balance by some sort of miracle, “Why can’t I see where we’re going?”

“Because, I said you can’t.” Martin replied curtly, the beam evident in his voice as his breath brushed past her ear, and his arms curled more securely around her, as if to guide her more certainly through the halls.

“But I know what the room number is.” Deborah reminded him airily, smirking when he ground to a halt, making her stumble as his arms remained fixed around her; she was sly enough to know that he must have something lined up for her, and she dreaded to think what it was.

“Oh…sorry.” Martin mumbled, and stepped away from her; Deborah had to blink hard against the harshness of the hotel’s overhead lights, but her vision returned swiftly enough for her to lay her eyes on Martin digging his hands into his pockets, cheeks scarlet, bottom lip pink between his teeth, “I suppose you can look where we’re going.”

“Thank you.” Deborah replied, genuinely relieved to have her sight back; she stepped back to Martin’s side and hooked her arm through his, stroking her thumb over the crook of his elbow, just the way he liked it, “Now, what is this all about? An hour ago you were barely saying a word to me, now you can barely keep your hands off me; I’m actually starting to worry about you.”

“There’s no need to worry – absolutely no need to be worried.” Martin assured her in his most un-reassuring tone of voice, as he started up his sluggish pace of before, swaying with each step he took; they were nearly at their room anyway, so Deborah chose not to rush him, “It’s a nice surprise, really.”

“Hold on, Martin.” Deborah instructed, tugging on his arm until he looked down at her, giving her his full attention for the first time in a week; after a week not knowing where she stood, he deserved a little interrogation, “All of this has been because you want to surprise me?”

“No, not yet!” Martin exclaimed quickly, and he lurched from her grasp to thud into the door to their room, pressing his arm against it as his other hand rifled through his pocket for the key card, “J-just wait, just one more moment…here.”

The door swung open, and Deborah rolled her eyes, shaking her head and folding her arms loosely at her front as she smiled fondly at him and strode inside; she had been expecting their usual brand of shoddy room accompanied by whatever Martin had lined up for her, but she was proved wrong. Deborah came to a halt so suddenly that Martin bumped into the back of her as he pulled the door shut behind them and flicked the lights on, revealing the full extent of his surprise.

The room was actually…nice…it was a lovely room, with lots of space and a double bed, a wide window that didn’t look out over the car park or some other horrible scene; the lobby hadn’t been that impressive, so it must have been one  of the nicest rooms that the hotel had to offer. And the rest of it…the rest of it made a surge of warm affection swell in Deborah’s chest, and her hand wander up to cover her lips and hide the stunned expression that she was sure she was making.

It wasn’t like a scene from the terrible movies that Harry used to be so fond of, but coming from Martin, it was lovely; there were no petals scattered everywhere, because she just _knew_ that Martin would have thrown a fit at the idea of the mess, but there were vases here and there, and on the dressing table beside the television, bottles that looked like they might contain champagne, or something similar.

“Oh…wh…” Deborah found herself a little breathless as she tried to turn back to look Martin in the eye, only to have him step to her side, his arm curled around her waist, his hand a comforting weight against the centre of her back, rubbing small circles into her skin, “What’s this for?”

“For you.” Martin replied as if it were obvious; he gnawed on his bottom lip and blushed furiously, and even nudged her slightly into the room, hugging closer to her as he guided her in.

“Why?” Deborah asked faintly, unable to move past the jarring in her brain and the sudden stillness of her lungs; it was lovely, and romantic, and explained his evasiveness the past week, but she couldn’t quite get her head around the suddenness of such a display of affection; that…none of her previous partners had ever just _done_ things, “Martin-”

“Before you say anything, we’re still financially in the clear.” Martin declared hastily, slipping away from her to step between her and the room, his hands raised in surrender, “I’ve been saving up for years now, and this was hardly anything really-”

The lack of his usual pride in such matters, the brutal honesty of it all delivered with a tentative smile, was enough to wash light breath back through her veins, and Deborah had to press her palm a little harder against her chest to hold in the flood of emotion that threatened to drown her as the romance of the moment finally, _finally_ crashed down on her shoulders.

“I wasn’t going to ask, darling, that’s alright.” Deborah sighed, shaking her head and fighting a smile, her lips pressed together in case too much emotion might make her tear up, and ruin the whole thing; instead she tread towards him, dropping her hands and lifting them imperceptibly towards him.

“Good, g-good.” Martin managed to say through shuddering breath, his chest heaving as he took her hands in the tips of his fingers, winding them together and swinging his wrists ever so slightly; the pleasant tingle that that produced made the smile spread from Deborah’s lips to her cheeks, and she dropped her eyes to trace the places where their hands were linked, “So, what do you think?” when Deborah didn’t answer, Martin’s voice dipped lower, and he cocked his head to try and meet her gaze, “Dear?...love?...Deborah…?”

“I-I…it’s lovely.” Deborah replied, inhaling sharply as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze, thrown again by the depth of emotion in his eyes; logically she should have accepted the gesture, but she needed to know, for her own peace of mind, “Martin, what is this for?”

“It’s for showing you how much I love you.” Martin explained, his eyes narrowing as if he were confused as to why he had to explain at all.

“I know that you love me.” Deborah remarked, letting out a silent laugh when Martin quirked his eyebrows and smirked that devious, self-satisfied smirk that sat attractively on his face, “I love you too.”

“Yes, but, I wanted to show you without words for once.” Martin shrugged lopsidedly, as if it were no matter, but Deborah knew otherwise; they still weren’t particularly well off, so as a rule, expensive gestures were off the table…and Martin was the type of man who gave all or nothing, so she was well aware how hard it was for him to restrain himself.

“So this is why you’ve been secretive.” Deborah murmured, leaning forwards and bridging the gap between them to place a soft, but lingering peck on the curve above his chin, as his cheeks heated even further under her lips; she took a step back, slipping her hands from his, and turned to survey the room, wandering to trace the tips of her fingers over the velvety edge of a rose.

“Yes.” Martin responded brightly, and although she couldn’t see him Deborah could imagine him hooking his hands behind him and rocking on his heels, a freckly smile on his face; the thought alone made her pause and her lips tremble slightly as she fingered the flower, and Martin must have picked up on that, as she heard him treading closer across the carpet and asking, “Debs…Deborah what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m flattered.” Deborah assured him hastily, spinning back to face him and stopping him in his tracks; she had to ask though, “What-why today -  I’m not complaining, but we were in Rome two weeks ago….we could’ve done this at home.”

“I know, but I wanted to do this tonight.” Martin acknowledged, nodding solemnly; with a sigh, he turned to check behind him, and then stumbled back to drop onto the edge of the bed, folding his arms at the wrist over his lap, “It’s important.”

“Why? Deborah inquired softly; she walked slowly to perch beside him on the bed, so that their knees bumped against the other, and their arms could rest against each other, a comforting presence no matter what the context.

“Because, a week ago, it was a year since we got back together…” Martin explained gently, turning his head so that he was gazing into her eyes; he didn’t sound stressed or upset, so Deborah supposed that she hadn’t thrown too much of a wrench in his plans, “So a year since we moved in together as well.”

“ _Oh…”_ Deborah sighed, more of a breath released against her will; she felt her lips curl at the cornered without her permission, and her chest filled with the roaring flutters that still made her stomach do flips and her throat itch with the need to say something, “that’s…sweet. Why not do this last week then?”

“Because _today_ , it’s been exactly two years since we got together in the first place.” Martin elaborated simply, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as if she were part of a cross-examination, his lip pink under the onslaught from his teeth gnawing nervously at it; it was beautiful, _he_ was beautiful, and Deborah couldn’t believe that he would remember something like that, “N-not our first kiss, because that was…”

“It was a farce.” Deborah choked out a laugh, and felt her smile grow so bright that she though it must have shone, as Martin’s face lit up as if in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the effort, “We, um, we messed that one up a bit.”

Their first kiss…now _that_ was a memory that had been pushed away when more taxing problems had taken their toll; on the surface, a farce…but now that Deborah thought about it, the images of exhaustion and fun, and of tentatively dipping her toes into the swirling pit of emotions that a failed van job had stirred up from the already extremely present mess…she almost missed the days when she and Martin had first been exploring the _something_ between them, prodding and poking until one of them reacted.

“Yes, exactly.” Martin chuckled, and his hand slipped between them to take hers again, a tentative curl around her fingers, like a knight lifting the hand of a lady, “B-but that other first time, wh-when we first, uh, when we first talked about how we felt, a-and started all of this- i-it wasn’t a farce, that was great, and I haven’t forgotten the date because…well, it was a weird day.”

“Quite helpfully weird if I remember correctly.” Deborah remarked wryly; so weird in fact, with such weird people, that they had sworn never to speak of it, even when alone, or even to think of it. Of course, every now and then something would remind Deborah of the odd people that had appeared that day, but for the most part, it was a moment in her life that faded into obscurity, kept alive in part by the memory of what it had led to.

“Yeah…it was a bit.” Martin murmured, his thumb stroking idly over the back of her knuckles; he was jolted back into slow action when Deborah lifted their hands and pressed her lips to the back of his hand, “So…what do you think?”

“I…I’m not entirely sure _what_ to say.” Deborah replied honestly, lifting her head from where she hadn’t realised she had dropped it to glance around at the adornments to the room; she was blown away by Martin’s wonderful ability to try and sweep her off her feet, even though it had been proved years ago that it was a hard task, so much so that her other partners had just thought that she was mysterious and enigmatic enough not to need it.

Martin…they had known each other for years, from near hatred, to cautious and untrusting friendship, to complete devotion…he still managed to surprise her.

“Just be really happy and smile?” Martin suggested, wincing sheepishly as he grinned at her, “That would be sort of what I was hoping for.”

“I am _extremely_ happy.” Deborah drawled softly, unable to muster her usual brand of sarcasm; Martin made a little sound that might have been a squeak of triumph, shifting so that the mattress dipped and knocked their legs together more, which only made her laugh all the more, gripping his hand and ducking her eyes, “Is my smile quite what you wanted?”

“It’s beautiful.” Martin almost hummed, his voice reaching that lower register that made something in Deborah’s chest clench and shiver with pleasure, and he leaned in until their foreheads touched, “I mean, _you’re_ beautiful.”

“You’re not bad yourself.” Deborah purred, enjoying the intimacy of the moment; then she remembered everything that Martin had set up, and how dismayed he would be if he didn’t get to make the most of it, “So, Captain, what was the plan for tonight? Charm with me flowers and then…?”

“Well, I thought that we _could_ go out for dinner, _or…”_ Martin sat back, putting the space back between them as he bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes wandering to his arrangements and then back to her, a sheepish crinkle tugging at his otherwise besotted expression.

“Or what?” Deborah prompted, giving him the little push that he always needed to leap past his lingering insecurities; one day he wouldn’t need the push, and she both anticipated and dreaded that day.

“ _Or_ , I thought that you might prefer to stay in.” Martin concluded, the words coming out as if they were trying to scramble over each other in their bid to kneel before her, “I got roses, and non-alcoholic champagne so that you can drink it too, and we can just relax, be together...watch some of your favourite films – not romantic ones, just ones that you like.”

“Ooh, you know me well.” Deborah drawled, her eyes wandering unashamedly down to Martin’s lips as she wetted hers, and shifted to sit more business-like on the bed, crossing one leg over the other, though she kept a hold of Martin’s hands, “I think I’ll take the latter offer, thank you very much.”

“Right, great, that’s good!” Martin responded vigorously, hopping up so that he was kneeling on the bed, and releasing her so that he could reach for the flight-bag that she hadn’t even seen him discard, only to begin rifling through it, “I-I’ve brought some of your favourites – at first I was going to pick out some romantic operas, o-or films, but then I remembered that actually, even though you’re classy, and you’ve got good taste, you love cheesy movies far better.”

“So what you’ve done is snatched some of my DVDs from under the TV?” Deborah inquired fondly, crawling to sit at his shoulder, hands slipping around his bicep, and peer into the carefully arranged contents of his bag as his dextrous hands dug through them.

“Under the bed.” Martin corrected her smugly, pausing only to send her a proud little smirk over his shoulder, before he retrieved a stack of worn out boxes, and placed them on the bed, “I know that’s where you keep your favourites.”

“Alright.” Deborah replied, sitting back comfortably and kicking out her legs so that she could watch him bring his legs around to sit cross-legged, facing her with the eagerness that he brought to particularly difficult flights; if he wanted to run things, then perhaps, tonight at least, she could let him, “So which ones have you brought with you?”

“Um…The Addams Family…Batman…” Martin began to reel off distractedly as he glanced at each cover; it became apparent immediately that what Martin had actually done was dig out her favourite films from childhood, all of which had been in a box quite obviously labelled by a teenager, before the video tapes had had to be replaced, “Star Trek ones…Top Gun?”

“I think that’s more for you than me.” Deborah remarked, poking his thigh with her toe; Martin rolled his eyes, but put Top Gun aside nonetheless, so that he could carry on flicking through the veritable stash that he had managed to sneak past her.

Watching him mutter to himself, so engrossed in his task that romance must have completely abandoned his mind save for as a box to be ticked, Deborah couldn’t help but find herself overwhelmed by the warm and pleasant spread of affection that leeched through her veins and prickled at her pores, making her chest swell and ache to pull her as close to him as possible. Maybe it wasn’t the most romantic pastime, watching him, still in his uniform, pinch and scrunch his nose as he inspected the objects in his lap, but Deborah thought that she could do it forever, which only served to make her long to be closer to him now.

“Shall I put something on then?” Martin asked after a while, once there were at least three piles of DVDs scattered strategically on one side of the bed; he looked up at Deborah, where she was lying back, propped up on her elbows having shirked her jacket, watching him ‘work’, and blinked at her patiently.

“No, that can wait.” Deborah replied warmly, as she pushed herself up and onto her knees, and shuffled close enough that she could sit in front of Martin, their knees touching, and move the boxes that she had displaced to a safe distance before drawling, “You know Martin, there’s no reason that we couldn’t cuddle up and watch films later, with some food.”

“What do you want to do until then?” Martin asked, wonderfully oblivious as always as his eyes followed the path of her hands, his attention still quite firmly on the task at hand.

“I’m sure we can think of a few things.” Deborah purred, shifting a little closer and lifting her hand to brush the back of her knuckles against his cheek; that seemed to get the message across, as immediately Martin pushed the bag from his lap, and she felt his hands move slowly to her waist, “After all, you did put a lot of effort into tonight; I can think of a lot of ways that I could reward you for that.”

“Oh, really?” Martin attempted a salacious drawl, but as always, it came out far too Martin-ish to be anything close; nevertheless, that, and the way that the wicked light glinted in his eyes, was enough to convince Deborah that he was absolutely on board for her change of plans. He deserved it after all of his effort.

“Hmmm…” Deborah hummed, and her eyes lidded as Martin pulled her onto his lap, arms wrapping loosely around her waist as his eyes dipped down her face, snapping back up to her eyes as if to prove that he was listening; she must have stilled, physically as well as mentally, as she felt the question at her tongue before it came out far more tentative than she had imagined, “Martin?”

“Yes?” Martin replied, halting in his inspection of her to give her the benefit of his full attention, albeit with hands still playing idly with the material of her shirt.

“I really love you.” Deborah said gently, as if withdrawn from even saying such a thing, as she tipped her head down enough to brush the tips of their noses together; she might have said it all the time, but at times like this, when she felt like this…sometimes it still made her falter how much it was actually true.

Martin, it seemed, didn’t have that problem.

“I love you too.” Martin replied, in that tone of voice that said ‘I absolutely mean what I’m saying, but why do you even have to ask?’; it was comforting to know that his steadfast confidence in himself, perhaps not his skills, but himself, was ever constant, “Now, come here.”

With that the arms around Deborah’s waist tightened, and laughing at the suddenness of it, she found herself being pulled forwards, lips colliding with Martin’s as he chuckled, and they flopped back onto the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Summer, it seemed, only remained exciting in its heat for a short while, before the scorching of the sun through cloudless sky became a heavy weight, inducing headaches and exhaustion. Or at least, that was the decision that Deborah had come to over the course of the day; Martin and Arthur hadn’t quite reached that point, but she was praying that they would stop enjoying themselves retreat indoors soon.

They were having _far_ too much fun for two men that loved their jobs so much; anyone would think that they were enjoying being on standby. It had been a clever scheme, and Deborah could appreciate Carolyn’s style; it was hot out, and as Martin and Arthur were going stir-crazy, washing GERTI was a smart idea that not only kept them occupied taking care of something they both valued, but it also saved a lot of money.

So Deborah had joined them outside, feigning reluctance even though she rather liked the prospect of seeing Martin get soaked and take part in manual labour; she wasn’t going to help with any of the lifting or washing of course, but she was content to stand at the bottom of the fold-out ladder while Arthur clambered to the top with a bucket of warm water, and Martin rushed here and there with sponges in his hands, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Deborah was just watching Martin say something to Arthur, leaning on the opposite side of the ladder, when she started as a sharp slap of tepid water caught her shoulder, dampening and freezing the exposed skin of her neck, fell from over her head. It was a good thing that Martin had his hands on the ladder, as Deborah jumped backwards, her hands flying into the air either side of her as she regained her composure, and pushed her hair behind her shoulders, out of harm’s way.

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Deborah demanded, only just keeping her tone measured and refraining from just yelling up at him; she ignored Martin’s unabashed sniggers for the sake of glaring up at Arthur, and tugging at the side of her shirt to counter the uncomfortable stick of the material against her skin.

“Oh, sorry!” Arthur called down to her, the arm not holding the bucket lifting to shield his eyes from the sun; he winced slightly as he took in Deborah’s glare, and the dark patch around her shoulder, “Did I get you?”

“You most definitely got her.” Martin chuckled, cheeks flushed as he grinned at her, scrunching the bridge of his nose up as Deborah batted away the hand that he reached around the ladder to poke at her damp shirt; he wasn’t discouraged from his mirth, but that was to be expected, “A direct hit.”

“Shush you.” Deborah scolded him, but there was no real heat behind it, and she felt a warm smile begin to creep up the corners of her lips; folding her arms loosely, she leant back against the side of the plane and kicked the tip of her toes against one of the buckets that they had left on the ground, “One word more and you might find your precious uniform soaked through.”

“Go ahead.” Martin snorted; then his expression pinched slightly, and he glanced down at his own uniform, his lip twisting at the dark stains at the bunched up material at his elbows, where the water had run down his arms, “It’s not like the material’s going to ruin is it.”

“I suppose not,” Deborah drawled wanly, batting her eyelashes at him, and making a show of sighing and cocking her head, eyes never leaving his torso; she did so like it when he became prissy and argumentative over things that were never going to change, “although it would be much more fun to tease you if it _did_.”

“Honestly, we’re making enough money now that Carolyn could afford to buy us properly fitting uniforms that _aren’t_ made of polyester.” Martin continued as if she hadn’t spoken, tipping his nose just a fraction higher into the air as he steadied the ladder, atop which Arthur was wobbling slightly, “We’re a professional airline, and we should look professional.”

“I love our uniforms.” Arthur chimed, grinning as he turned and twisted to look at both of their faces as he addressed them, his bucket swinging precariously; it was hardly a surprise that he loved them, Arthur loved everything that wasn’t inherently evil to begin with, “They’re brilliant; no one else has ones quite like them.”

“All the more reason to upgrade.” Deborah murmured loud enough for Martin alone to hear; there wasn’t time for her to bask in his conspiratorial smirk though, as she was struck all of a sudden by another wall of water, slapping against her arm and rebounding with drops onto her face.

“Sorry Deborah!” Arthur called over his shoulder; despite his apology, he continued scrubbing wetly at GERTI’s side, while Martin sniggered and ducked his head down to hide his smile against his upper arm.

“Right, that’s it.” Deborah announced, throwing her hands into the air either side of her, and ducking away from the ladder and the plane in two strides, out of the line of fire; it had been fun at first, but she wasn’t staying outside to get soaked through, “I’m going inside.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Martin begged her, the smirk still fresh on his lips as she passed him, and he reached out to slip his hand around her wrist, tugging her lightly back towards him; he pouted insincerely and tried to tangle his fingers with hers, failing despite his efforts, and lowering his voice, “I’ll miss you.”

“I bet you will.” Deborah purred, withdrawing her hand, but conceding to lean in and place a light kiss upon his lips, smirking when he took his hand from the ladder, and then stumbled back to steady it, “Nevertheless, I’m going where I can’t be rained on during this otherwise cloudless day.”

“If you’re going in, can you see if Mum will come out?” Arthur asked when he caught sight of Deborah extracting herself from Martin’s hold, holding in a laugh at his efforts.

“I can tell you now, Arthur, she won’t.” Deborah promised, folding her arms and leaning back on her heel as she squinted against the light of the sun glinting off of GERTI’s side; there was nothing on Earth that could make Carolyn abandon the porta-cabin for the grime of the outdoors, especially once she knew that Deborah herself wasn’t partaking in the manual labour.

“She might.” Arthur insisted confidently, in the tone of a man that knew how the world worked; his expectant gaze didn’t falter for even a moment.

“I’ll bet you a fiver she won’t.” Deborah retorted, pleased to see the slight widening of Arthur’s eyes that promised that he would join in with whatever bet she put forwards; it was easy money, but there was something nice about winning, even if it was against Arthur.

“ _Deborah_ …” Martin sighed, the fond edge to his voice not going unnoticed; he fixed Deborah with a decided glare, which she couldn’t quite take seriously, but neither did she mock, “You promised not to bet things out of Arthur.”

“I promised nothing of the sort.” Deborah replied, quirking her eyebrows playfully; when Martin just rolled his eyes and huffed as if she had disobeyed a direct order, she returned to press her lips to his cheek, and then made her departure, “I’ll see you later, darling.”

oOoOoOo

It was hard to tell whether it would have been better to remain outside and play victim to the onslaught as delivered by Arthur, or to stagnate in the dullness that was Carolyn’s filing system. Deborah could understand why Carolyn had wanted silence; any peripheral noise might have reminded her how fun it was to _not_ be leafing through her books with a pen in hand.

“Why aren’t you using Martin’s notes?” Deborah inquired lazily, as she sprawled back over the sofa; she might have sat behind her desk to do some work, but unfortunately it was already inhabited, “He spent months getting all of our client details in alphabetical and chronological order.”

“Because Martin’s notes are all fact.” Carolyn replied shortly, distracted enough not to pay Deborah too much notice, her eyes barely lifting from the desk top, “My notes have my thoughts on them, as a wise businesswoman’s notes should have.”

“You mean you wrote down whether you hated the customer or liked them?” Deborah remarked wryly; that would be just the sort of thing that Carolyn would do, noting down the misdemeanours of her previous customers, “Businesswoman’s notes or a schoolgirl’s journal?”

“Thanks to the three of you I also had to write down whether _they_ hate _us_.” Carolyn glanced up at this, fixing Deborah with a look that spoke wonders for exactly what she thought of _that_ , “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to reach out to potential clients when half of them can’t stand the sound of the company name?”

“I imagine it throws a spanner or two in the works.” Deborah drawled, dropping her head down on the cushions; it wasn’t her fault that a large number of their old clients had exhibited rather caustic personalities.

“Not that you could care any less.” Carolyn retorted, turning back to her work; how she thought that she of all people was going to sweet talk their current clients into booking more flights was beyond Deborah’s imaginings. Nobody was that good of an actor.

“You have the most amazing faith in me Carolyn, you really do.” Deborah muttered, curling her hand through the air beside her, and smarting internally at the rebuff, even though she knew that it was nothing but banter, “What have I ever done to-”

Before Deborah could finish, a shrill ringing breached the air, signalling the ringing of Carolyn’s phone in her office; Carolyn made a movement as if to get up, but then thought better, and laid her arms atop her papers, sighing as she turned to address Deborah, a weary set of her face suggesting that her work was more trying than it appeared.

“Get that would you.” Carolyn instructed, gesturing blindly towards her office as the phone continued to ring, ever more insistently, “I’m in the middle of a train of thought.”

“Of course.” Deborah replied, rising to her feet not quite as gracefully as she might have liked, and striding across the room while the blood was still rushing to her head; she paused in the doorway just long enough to say, “Though, if it’s one of the ones that hates us, I’ll be bringing the receiver through here for you to deal with them.”

Phone still ringing persistently, Deborah pushed the door until it was ajar and wandered to the desk, plucking the receiver from its hold and dropping into Carolyn’s wheelie chair as the silence struck the air.

“MJN Air, First Officer Richardson.” Deborah spoke clearly into the receiver as she pressed it lightly to her ear; it had been a while since she had played the host of MJN, and she had to admit, she rather enjoyed the little thrill of power that it instilled, “How may our quaint little company be of use to you today?”

“ _Hello…it is Theresa…”_ a low yet distinctly feminine voice, heavily accented, wafted down the line, and although there was something restrained about it, a prickle of discomfort pricked at the base of Deborah’s throat, even before the end of the sentence arrived, _“of Lichtenstein.”_

“Theresa?” Deborah repeated tautly, and all of a sudden a lump formed in her throat and a hand closed around her chest, even something in her mind knew that it was ridiculous; it didn’t matter though, as in that moment, she was thrust back over a year and a half, as if no time had passed, back into the suffocating and aching misery, and forced to remain calm and polite, because that was the best and proper thing to do, “What…did…did you need something?”

“ _I would like to book your plane for a flight.”_ Theresa replied, and something about her tone of voice made something click in Deborah’s head, making the room sharpen once more around her, as she realised that the other woman was as uncomfortable, and dare she say it, nervous, as she was, _“I understand that this might be…awkward for you-”_

“Then why did you call us?” Deborah demanded, perhaps a little too harshly; leaning forwards against the desk, she steadied her tone and tried not to sound too hostile…it wasn’t Theresa’s fault after all, “There are other airlines that would be much easier for all of us in the long run.”

“ _My usual airline has let me down, and I thought…”_ Theresa explained hastily, before trailing off, and audibly taking a deep breath, speaking reasonably despite the terse nature of her speech, _“I just thought that if I was going to spend a lot of money on a last minute flight, then I might as well pay a company that deserved it.”_

“That’s generous of you,” Deborah sighed, a shred of her anger evaporating into guilt; it was so difficult to talk to someone who was ultimately lovely when the very thought of them, through no fault of their own, made one want to bury their heads and scrub their mind free of any trace of horrid emotion that still lingered in its recesses, “but-”

“ _Deborah, can I speak honestly to you?”_ Theresa interjected, with a gravity that couldn’t be ignored, no matter how much Deborah would have liked to.

“I suppose.” Deborah agreed wanly, injecting little to no emotion into her tone; it would be wrong to hold a grudge against Theresa for the emotional torment that Martin and herself had put each other through, during those horrible months between the wonder of new love, and the pain of trying to convince him to move on to something better than herself.

But everything was alright now…she and Martin were happy…there was no logical reason for Deborah to find herself seized by the same old terror that ran straight to the hollows in her heart…and yet there they were, against her better judgement.

“ _I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. That’s really not what I’m trying to do.”_ Theresa informed her, with such a genuine sympathy in her voice that there was no denying her sincerity, _“If you don’t want me near MJN, then I can go elsewhere…I just thought that I would rather help your little company than some big one that doesn’t need my money.”_

“I-it’s not…I’m not uncomfortable.” Deborah swallowed hard, in an attempt to regain some composure, as she ran a hand through her hair; she was so uncomfortable, but this woman was going out of her way to do something kind despite being messed around by their Captain, “It’s a nice thought.”

“ _Really?”_ Theresa didn’t quite exclaim, just as smooth and controlled as she had been the last time that Deborah had spoken to her, _“I am glad. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, it’s just-”_

“Stop apologising, there’s no need.” Deborah interrupted wearily; it barely took a moment’s thought, and a glance towards the door sitting ajar, before she made her decision, the right decision, she was sure, “I…I have no issue with you booking MJN…I’m sure our CEO won’t mind the extra profit either.”

“ _And…and Martin?”_ Theresa’s question trembled just a little more than her previous words; it was no surprise, as it sent a shiver of dread rippling beneath Deborah’s skin, and she was forced to close her eyes and place her free palm against her forehead, _“Is he still with you, or did he get the job with Swiss Air?”_

“He’s still with us.” Deborah replied curtly, inhaling deeply in order to keep herself calm; she hadn’t even considered how Martin would react, whether his feelings would be the same as hers, “Will that be a problem?”

It would be a problem, even if Theresa and Martin agreed to behave amiably and like old friends…they were old friends…the thought of putting them in the same room made Deborah want to clench her fists into her palms until it hurt, and shut out the horrid feelings churching in her guts. But she was an adult, and that kind of thinking was ridiculous, and petty, and she was above that now that she and Martin were _perfectly fine_.

“ _Not for me.”_ Theresa insisted quickly, _“I…I just wouldn’t want to impose if he didn’t want me there.”_

“Why wouldn’t he want you here?” Deborah asked sharply, and then immediately regretted her tone; Theresa was being nothing but decent, and didn’t deserve her distemper, no matter how much she wanted something to alleviate her dreariness, “I thought that everything was over and done with between you, an amiable end and all that.”

“ _Yes, it was amiable…”_ Theresa agreed, although she sounded uncomfortable; no doubt the subject was as sour for her as it was for Deborah, _“And we haven’t spoken since the evening of his interview, over a year ago.”_

“Then there shouldn’t be any problem should there?” Deborah remarked with faux enthusiasm that wouldn’t have fooled anyone; she opened her eyes, but when that only made her want to frown, she squeezed them shut again and pressed her hands over her lids.

“ _But we haven’t spoken to each other.”_ Theresa continued, not quite as oblivious to Deborah’s apathy as she might have seemed if the guarded edge to her tone was any indicator, _“I don’t know how he might react to having me there. I’ll only book a flight if I know that the both of you are alright with me being on your plane.”_

“It’ll be fine.” Deborah assured her, before she could stir up any more potentially lethal cocktails of emotions; she could do this, for the good of the company, and for the sake of not rejecting a genuine act of kindness, “Where do you want to go?”

“ _From Lichtenstein to England, on Friday morning.”_ Theresa replied, sounding somewhat relieved at the change of subject, _“I’m taking Maxi to school…again.”_

“That should be fine.” Deborah told her, trying to remain detached, even as she thought that she didn’t want to have to face the onslaught that was threatening to peak in her chest if she were to actually see this woman; no, that wasn’t right, she had to behave and get her head straight, nothing was wrong, not at all, and there was nothing to worry about, “I’ll have to check the calendar, but I think we’re free. If you want to run me through timings, I can work out the pricing-”

“ _Are you sure that you’re okay with this?”_ Theresa interjected, cutting Deborah off where she may not have been able to herself.

“Yes, I just said that I was okay.” Deborah replied, smarting at the implication that she wasn’t completely sure of her own mind; but she couldn’t cling to that, she had to be reasonable, not wallow in the swirling pit of her stomach or the ever teary lump in her throat as she was pitched once again into the past and her many nights wondering whether Martin would be happier in Switzerland with his girlfriend the Princess of Lichtenstein.

“ _No, not the whole company.”_ Theresa almost huffed, which was enough to make Deborah lift her head up and slump against the back of the seat instead, uncovering her eyes, _“Are you, Deborah, okay with me being there? I know that I must have caused you a lot of pain, and I wouldn’t want to bring any of that back.”_

“Who said that you had caused me any pain?” Deborah demanded weakly, struck by a wash of dejection; that wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to share, she had barely shared that with Arthur, let alone strangers, “Martin didn’t-”

“ _Martin broke up with me, because he was ‘in love with another woman, and could never think of spending his life with anyone else’…”_ Theresa explained slowly, as if she was afraid that she might say the wrong thing, _“It didn’t take me long to work out who he meant, and I just assumed that if you had known each other for years, then it can’t have been a secret.”_

“Yes, we were… _together_ …for a while before you turned up…it was a difficult time.” Deborah admitted, steeling herself; she had to get over this, Theresa had been an innocent victim in her and Martin’s mucking around, and it wasn’t her fault, nor her place to be feeling guilty, “I’m sorry about that- I told him the moment that he told me what he’d done that he shouldn’t have-”

“ _Don’t be sorry.”_ Theresa instructed her, with the restrained sheepishness that Deborah imagined she had learnt in her years of overseeing her brother’s duties for her, _“I’m sorry for never noticing that he was yours – I can’t imagine the pain that I put you through, which is why I don’t want to-”_

“It’s over and done with.” Deborah assured her; she let out a sigh as she blinked around the office, and tried to swallow as much discontent as possible, for the sake of not being a miserable human being, “Thank you…it’s good of you to think of MJN.”

“ _It is the least I can do.”_ Theresa replied pleasantly enough that Deborah was reassured of her ability to mask her discomfort, _“Besides, you’re all much friendlier than the cabin crews on my usual airline.”_

“Well, as our advertisement says, we do try…we really _try_ , even if we don’t produce results.” Deborah remarked, forcing a facsimile of brightness; this was doable, they could really use the extra money, and perhaps facing Theresa would help to alleviate the trickles of doubt that she hadn’t realised still accepted, “Look, let me know what you need, and I’ll run it past Carolyn.”

“ _And make sure that Martin doesn’t mind seeing me again?”_ Theresa inquired softly; it would be so much easier if she weren’t so thoughtful.

“Sure…” Deborah replied, reaching across the desk to take up one of Carolyn’s abandoned pens, and search for a scrap of paper; there was no way that Martin would agree to this, so there was no choice but to lie. They needed the money, and if Deborah didn’t face this head on now, the emotions that Theresa’s reappearance in her life had caused might never go away.

oOoOoOo

This had been a bad idea; why Deborah had thought that letting Theresa hire them without telling Martin where they were flying, or who their client was, was a good idea, was beyond her. It needed to be done, they needed the money and they needed to put any residual feelings behind them, because Deborah _knew_ , after many failed relationships, that she shouldn’t be feeling so unsettled and insecure at the idea of one of Martin’s exes appearing, even if it did bring back uncomfortable memories.

Martin knew something was wrong, though he couldn’t know what; that much Deborah was sure of. That was especially noticeable on the morning of the flight to Lichtenstein. Normally when he awoke, Martin would go and make breakfast if Deborah was still asleep, and if she woke first, he would find her and wrap his arms around her from behind, snuggling until he was properly conscious.

Today, neither of those things happened. Deborah woke first, though she had barely slept at all, and instead of getting out of bed to put the kettle on, she had swung her legs out and perched on the edge of the mattress, hands wound tightly together as she didn’t quite scheme, but desperately tried not to tap incessantly in trepidation of Martin’s reaction.

She heard Martin snuffling before she felt the mattress dip with his movement, and he barely said a word as he shuffled up beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, and then pulling her into a hug; Martin asked what was wrong, and Deborah smiled and rejected the idea out of hand. Nothing was wrong…yet.

Now Deborah was still on edge, having sorted out everything without saying a word to Martin, sitting in the flight-deck, rapping her nails against the arm of her seat; she curled her hand and laid it still as Martin appeared in her field of vision, squeezing between their seats and dropping into his own, adjusting his hat atop his ginger hair, straightening his epaulets.

“Are you feeling alright, Debs?” Martin asked when he finally turned his head to look at her; when no response came, he shifted until he was facing her, and reached out to try and take her hand, his brow furrowing with concern, but not a shred of suspicion, “I’m starting to worry about you.”

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be alright?” Deborah replied a little too hastily, lifting her hand before Martin could take it; she noted the pinched frown that appeared on his face as he withdrew his hand, and was hit by a pang of guilt, just another wash of negative emotion added to the rest, “I’m absolutely fine.”

“Right…” Martin murmured, sniffing indignantly, but not giving up; on any other day, Deborah might have appreciated his persistence and his worrying, but today, she would have rather listened to the hum of the engine, “It’s just you did the flight plan, and the paperwork, Carolyn said you booked the flight, and you’ve been…working.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you _wanted_ me to do my job.” Deborah remarked sarcastically, distractedly, not quite turning to address him face to face; the dull tarmac of Fitton’s runway was enough for her now, “The walk-around still needs doing if you’re feeling left out.”

Making Martin leave her company was the last thing that Deborah wanted; even when almost jittering from anxiety at how he was going to react to what she had done, his presence was calming, as if having him in arm’s reach was enough to boost her confidence. She was just snippy, she knew that; what else could she be when in a few hours Martin and Theresa would be in the same room, and she would be riddled with the same jealous churning throughout her flesh as before.

“Sure…I’ll do that…” Martin replied dejectedly, though he made no signs of movement, other than to glance over his shoulder and call out towards the Galley, his eyes wandering back to rest upon Deborah’s face every few seconds, “Arthur, is the Cabin checked and ready?”

“Yep! Everything’s clean and ready for our passengers.” Arthur answered cheerily, as he stuck his head around the door, buoyed as always by the opportunity to cater to real life passengers, even if they were on the other end of the flight; Deborah didn’t bother turning, but internally flinched as he asked, “Where are we going today?”

“Actually, that’s a point.” Martin remarked, curiously enough that Deborah pressed her lips together and propped her elbow up on the arm between them, so that she could shade half of her face with her palm; here was the precipice over which they were destined to topple into an argument, the likes of which they hadn’t had in months, Deborah was sure, “Where _are_ we going today?”

“It’s not really possible for me not to tell you, is it?” Deborah noted dryly, blinking out at the runway through the newly shining glass; hopelessness had never tasted so bitter as it did now, mixed with the sour certainty that in a few hours she would have to face someone who represented a future that she almost had, and almost didn’t have at all.

“Not as I’m the Captain, no.” Martin responded matter-of-factly, his posture stiffening slightly beside her; with each syllable that left his mouth, his insistence became more shrill, and more nervously suspicious, “Why don’t you want to tell me? Deborah, what aren’t you telling me?”

“We’re going to Lichtenstein.” Deborah muttered, letting her eyes flicker to meet Martin’s, and then hastily staring at the outside once again when she caught sight of the stunned betrayal that leeched into every facet of his expression. His hands had frozen on the arms of his seat, and he was staring at her open mouthed, wide-eyed and red cheeked, as if he couldn’t create the right way to react.

“Oh…I’ll, um…” Arthur stammered, demonstrating a fit of unusual perceptiveness; his voice was already becoming distant when Deborah heard him excuse himself from the icy atmosphere that had leapt into existence, “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit, see if Mum’s on board yet.”

“When you say Lichtenstein, y-you mean some random citizen that wants a private jet, don’t you?” Martin demanded the moment that the flight-deck door slammed shut behind them; he was spoke steadily, though his voice was shaking, and his hand was clenched into a ball atop the arm of his seat, “You don’t mean you booked-”

“We’re flying Princess Theresa and her brother back to England so that he can be in school on time.” Deborah told him, taking a deep breath and pressing her back to the padding on her seat; she was taking the moral high ground and doing the right, logical, thing, and although Martin would be mad for a while, he would get over it…eventually.

If Martin truly loved her the way that he said he did, then there was no reason that however uncomfortable seeing Theresa made him, he would stay furious…unless…no.

“Deborah!” Martin exclaimed; when Deborah lifted her gaze, it was to see him staring at her as if she had committed some terrible crime, blue eyes narrowed as if he were trying to decipher her very thoughts, “Why would you book that flight!”

“Because she’s willing to pay us a lot of money-” Deborah started to explain, as calmly as she could given the defensive flare in her chest, spurred on by indignation; it wasn’t as if she had murdered his mother or burnt his clothes for Christ’s sake.

“And you didn’t think about how _I_ would feel about this?” Martin asked shrilly, gesturing with a hand jabbing frantically at his own chest as his cheeks flushed with exertion; he was completely ignoring her logical decision, “It didn’t occur to you that I might not want to see her?”

“Of course it occurred,” Deborah replied curtly, pursing her lips and inhaling sharply, holding her head high as she turned her head to stare him in the eyes; if she could be brave and face the past, then he was damn well going to respect that decision, like it or not, “but then it also occurred to me that if you really didn’t want to see her, you could hide in the flight-deck until she’s gone.”

“Oh, _thank you_!” Martin didn’t quite sneer, but it was close enough, with his grandiose tone and the way he slumped back in his seat, glaring at her, oblivious to her own discomfort, “Thank you, you caring woman that I have chosen to spend my life with – thank you for sparing that tiny thought for my happiness when you-”

“We need the money Martin!” Deborah snapped, cutting him off as her breathing became just that little bit too ragged, but before she could lose her temper as he tugged at her already frayed nerves, “Don’t you start on me – we need to earn a little extra where we can, so that we can put it away in case of emergencies.”

“That’s what my van money is for.” Martin retorted, letting his palms drop open either side of him, as he shook his head, stubbornly setting his jaw as he glared at her.

“Well now we’re going to have even more to put away.” Deborah remarked sharply, schooling her expression; Martin wasn’t listening anymore, he was just spurting baseless arguments as he was wont to do when he was losing a fight, and she didn’t have to listen to that.

“I don’t want to see her!” Martin exclaimed, his whole figure shuddering slightly as he held as still as he could, red faced and furious as he refused to back down, unable to seize upon a rational argument, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth; there was the truth, without prevarication, easier to stomach, as hard as Martin’s overreaction was to understand.

“I know you don’t. I don’t particularly want to see any of my exes; I _do_ understand.” Deborah replied as calmly as she could, measuring her tone and placing her hands firmly on the arms of her seat, unwilling to reach between them and try to comfort Martin when he was being unreasonable, “But much like me having to put up with Chris for the sake of Verity, you can suck it up and deal with Theresa for _one day_ , so that we can put a little extra in the bank for holidays, or moving, or any number of things that _require money!”_

“It’s not the same.” Martin muttered, ducking his head, having the grace to look sheepish, even as he ran a hand over the back of his neck, and continued to mutter as if she couldn’t hear him, “I can’t believe you did this.”

“It’s done Martin.” Deborah said matter-of-factly, taking her eyes from him and staring instead at the controls, which she curled her hand around, grounding herself, “We are flying Theresa, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, but it’s happening, whether you act like a child or not.”

“How can _you_ be okay with having her here?” Martin grumbled; she could hear him shifting, the brush of his uniform against his seat as he undoubtedly glared at him like a petulant child, but Deborah didn’t bother inflicting more pain upon herself by looking.

“Because she’s a nice woman, and she’s generous enough to want to help us out instead of using some big multi-national company.” Deborah sighed tonelessly; she was in the right here, and wouldn’t allow herself to be cowed, guilt be damned, “I’m not the sort of person to hold grudges, you know that.”

“Don’t give me that.” Martin snorted bitterly; something about his disregard tugged at the distemper roiling in her chest, though she didn’t react outwardly, “You’ve been holding a grudge against Herc and he hasn’t even done anything.”

“That’s not a grudge, that’s just a general dislike.” Deborah retorted, and then remembered that that wasn’t what they were fighting about, and that she couldn’t let herself get distracted; she knew deep down that Martin was just as uncomfortable with the arrangement as she was, and that she couldn’t let that get in the way, so she took a deep breath and let her eyes fall closed for just a moment, “Martin…I am sorry.”

“Sorry’s not good enough.” Martin replied caustically enough that Deborah pressed her lips together and dropped her eyes; then he groaned in that guilty way that she recognised so well, “I don’t want to face her Deborah! I broke it off quickly, over the phone because I was here in Fitton, and even though everything was fine, it might not have been fine, b-because there was no closure, and just a lot of loose ends and sudden-”

“You think there are still loose ends?” Deborah cut him off, her head snapping around so that she could look him in the eye, any semblance of cool fractured; this was what she was afraid of, even though there should be no reason at all to be afraid. What if one of those ends wasn’t quite so loose?

“There’s not still anything on my end!” Martin insisted, but the heat seemed to fade from his expression as his eyes widened imperceptibly, and his throat visibly bobbed as he gulped at bit down on his bottom lip; so he was paying enough attention to see that Deborah wasn’t happy, at the very least, “Well, except guilt about dropping her, and me feeling bad about stringing her along!”

“You still feel for her?” Deborah asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but fearing that her decision not to meet Martin’s gaze might have negated those efforts.

“I don’t – what about _her_?” Martin couldn’t’ even finish his denial, and that made the lump in Deborah’s throat stick, while indignation flared in her guts, as Martin gesticulated eclectically, “What if she was hurt? What if she’s angry, o-or upset, or what if she’s holding a grudge against _me_? I don’t want to see her!”

“Then don’t.” Deborah replied curtly, holding her unaffected expression and rising suddenly to her feet, flattening the creases from her uniform and slipping between the seats, lagging long enough to rest her hand stiffly against the back of her seat, and address Martin with a glare, “Sit in here on your own, and I’ll deal with everything.”

“I thought I was doing the walk-around.” Martin uttered, turning fully in his seat to track her movements, the tempered hostility fading instantaneously from his posture, face, and tone, as he frowned in confusion.

“No need, I’m doing it.” Deborah retorted through gritted teeth, striding towards the back of the flight-deck, and through to the Galley, “I need a few minutes away from you anyway.”

oOoOoOo

The mood on the flight-deck didn’t get any better, which meant that for the hour and a half it took to reach Lichtenstein, Deborah could sit in silence and feel more and more queasy at the prospect of greeting Theresa at the airport, as Martin refused in barely any words to leave the flight-deck upon her arrival. It wasn’t even Theresa that Deborah was worried about, because she really was a lovely person…it was how Martin was going to react. Deborah didn’t even know what she was expecting, but whatever it was, it was feeding on the faint insecurity that nestled in the back of her mind.

Mercifully, Arthur agreed to accompany Deborah down to the gate to meet Theresa and Maxi, which meant that if nothing else, she had some cheerful if a little guarded chatter to wash over her and keep her alert.

That didn’t prepared Deborah for the flood of nerves that she was so unaccustomed to when she saw Theresa standing, as smart and beautiful as she had been the last time with her fair yet dark complexion, and Maxi at her side, five or six inches taller than he had been, but pouting as petulantly as ever.

“Theresa…hello.” Deborah greeted the other woman, extending her hand for her to shake, before thinking better of it, just as Theresa performed a mirror’s reflection of the action; instead she came to a stop before them, and folded her arms over her chest, “I’ve ended up playing the welcome party.”

“And me!” Arthur declared, coming to a stop at her shoulder and giving a little wave, no doubt smiling in welcome and exuding his usual excitement, “Hello.”

“Yes, hello…” Theresa replied, smiling tautly as she looked between the two of them, and clutching her hand luggage at her front like a life raft; she was as nervous as Deborah was, which was somewhat comforting.

“What about me?” Maxi grouched, but he didn’t puff out his chest and try to snatch centre stage as he had the last time he had flown with them; apparently adolescent apathy could enslave even kings, “I’m the king, you’re supposed to greet _me_.”

“Sorry Maxi, I was just overcome with awe.” Deborah assured him, smiling indulgently in his direction; she had liked him, as stubbornly pedantic and self-absorbed as he was, sort of like Martin had been when they had first met; nevertheless, it was better to get him out of the way for now, and to get the difficult part of the day over with, “Arthur, be a dear and run ahead with Maxi; I’m sure he’d love to meet Carolyn.”

“Aw, Deborah-” Arthur began to resist her instructions, but Deborah raised her hand in front of him, cutting him off without even turning to look at him.

“Do it, please.” Deborah instructed him, and this time he obeyed, with a little huff, ushering an indignantly rambling Maxi in his wake; that only left Theresa, fingers tapping idly against her beg, as she waited for a sign of some sort, that Deborah felt obliged to give, “So…how are you?”

“I’m good, all things considered.” Theresa replied honestly, shrugging imperceptibly as if to say ‘what can I do’; Deborah smiled in response, and made a small motion made a small motion with her hand, waiting patiently for the other woman to reach her side before starting a slow and steady pace back through the airport, ignoring the periphery bustle, “I wanted to apologise again for any inconvenience I’m causing you, and any discomfort-”

“There’s no need to apologise.” Deborah assured her quickly, giving Theresa a sidelong glance and another thin lipped smile, absolutely meaning what she said; she wasn’t upset with Theresa personally, and the knowledge that all of her internal discomfort was inside her own head didn’t help to quell the subtle nausea that had taken hold of her, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Some people might consider it rude to force their company where they’re not wanted.” Theresa remarked wryly, smirking sardonically; her eyes travelled from Deborah’s face to the floor, though she didn’t falter or shake at all, “I see Martin isn’t here…it’s not too late for me to find another flight if he’s uncomfortable.”

“Martin’s in a mood, but that’s not your problem.” Deborah informed her, careful not to inject any kind of negative emotion into her voice, something that she was normally so good at; it was easier to talk to Theresa than she had thought it would be, but it still wasn’t the smooth conversation that would have been preferable, “He’ll get over it.”

“If I’m causing problems in your relationship-” Theresa insisted, but Deborah couldn’t hear the rest of that sentence, lest it cause reality to shift as a result.

“Believe me Theresa, Martin and I have had bigger fights than this.” Deborah interrupted calmly, but certainly, as if there wasn’t a single shred of doubt in her mind; even so, her words betrayed her, “He promised that it didn’t matter how furious he got, he wouldn’t let it end us, so I’m…he’ll get over it.”

“I’m sorry.” Theresa sighed, a breathy sound so riddled with guilt that Deborah’s own trepidations were washed to the side-lines as concern for the other woman’s happiness took its place.

“Stop apologising.” Deborah shook her head, running a hand through her hair and nodding to the man that let them out onto the tarmac; perhaps this was the best way to get closure, for both of them, “Martin and I weren’t together when you were around the first time…if anyone was in the wrong, it was him, for the way that he treated you.”

“He never treated me badly, that’s why I was so worried that I might upset _you_.” Theresa amended hastily; she smiled as she continued to speak, though Deborah could hear the drooping edge to her tone, “Martin was always lovely, he was attractive, and funny, and he had a sort of…it wasn’t quite a spark but a…”

“A Martin-ness.” Deborah suggested wanly, taking her eyes from Theresa’s face. There it was again, that pang of aching jealously, or it might have been fear; there was something about the reminder of someone else having appreciated that in Martin, having _had_ and _wanted_ that, that brought home all the reasons that Deborah had reluctantly tried to push Martin at Theresa in the first place. She was a better option by far, and he deserved that.

“Yes!” Theresa agreed brightly, before reasserting her dour demeanour, as if as a sign of respect, not that Deborah thought she deserved it, “I can understand why someone might fall in love with him, and that is why I was cautious about booking, in case you felt…hurt, by my presence.”

“I don’t…I’ll admit to being jarred, but that’s only…” Deborah tried so hard to remain detached, but her resolve shattered almost immediately; it was remarkably difficult not to be honest, as she needed to feel in control, “That’s because when you accepted his offer of a date, it hit me for the first time that I wasn’t the only person in the world to appreciate… _Martin_ …the way that he is.”

“What do you mean?” Theresa asked, and it took all of one glance for Deborah to realise that she was genuinely confused, her eyebrows dipping slightly as her eyes narrowed, “I know that he can be _grating_ , but Martin – how can anyone not like him?”

“Ah…” Deborah let out a sound of surprise, although she wasn’t really surprised at all; she turned just a fraction as they walked, so that Theresa could see the small smirk that was curling the corner of her lips, fuelled by the sparks of affection that could warm any amount of drudgery, “Am I to assume that in the weeks that you dated, Martin never thought to mention his complete ineptitude when it comes to the rest of the human race?”

“Hmmm…” Theresa hummed thoughtfully, and as Deborah watched her expression morphed into one of understanding, and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head and smiling, “Now that I think about it, he was quite quiet whenever we were around other members of the human race.”

“That’s Martin.” Deborah remarked, and for a moment, it felt as if the murky waters between the two of them were clearing, as she met Theresa’s gaze, and they shared a wary smile; it wasn’t her fault, Deborah knew that, and nothing good could ever come of leaving bridges thoroughly un-built; after all, if it hadn’t been for _her_ , Theresa might have been very happy with Martin…as miserable a thought as that was, “Are _you_ alright with this? I’m sorry about-”

“I’m alright.” Theresa assured her, visibly relaxing into her stride, letting her bag fall to hang over her shoulder, as the tension began to disappear from the set of her limbs, “I was sad when Martin ended things, but I didn’t hold it against him. We only knew each other a month or two…I’m not the sort of person to begrudge love over a few months.”

“So you’re not…” Deborah asked, and found that she didn’t have the guts to finish her question, lest the answer be one that she didn’t like.

“Heartbroken?” Theresa offered, raising her eyebrows and almost laughing, but tastefully avoiding such an act; Deborah held her breath, but there was no need, and Theresa batter a hand through the air, as if to show that there was nothing at all to worry about between them, “No…Martin’s special, but he’s not the end of the world; not for me anyway. I’m happy for the two of you.”

And that was all it took to reassured Deborah that Theresa, as charming and lovely a woman as she was, meant her no harm or upset; perhaps it would become a little easier to breathe, just as it was easier to think, like the striking of a cool breeze. Nevertheless, as they approached GERTI, where only Carolyn stood awaiting their arrival, Deborah couldn’t deny that the swelling wash of guilty nerves and doubt began to tremble once more at the base of her throat.

oOoOoOo

They were flying home now and Martin was still in a bad mood. There was no more of the frigid tension between them, but Deborah was highly aware of how silent he was being, sparing her only the most fleeting of glances, his expression soft despite the frown on his lips. Deborah suspected that he wanted to apologise for the way he had spoken to her, and ignored her, but was too proud to do so.

He hadn’t left the flight-deck at all; that couldn’t be allowed to go on. It was all well and good Deborah facing Theresa and clearing the waters between them, but Martin couldn’t just bury his head in the sand. She _needed_ him to talk to Theresa, and to see her…Deborah was dreading what he might be thinking, why he didn’t want to see her, what such a meeting might dredge up…but she had to get it over with, one way or another, for a sense of closure if nothing else.

“I’m going to the Cabin for a while.” Deborah announced dully, flicking the controls so that Martin could fly GERTI without her assistance, and rising from her seat; she watched from the corner of her eyes as Martin lifted his head and pushed back the rim of his hat, his stony expression fading as his eyes followed her movements, “I’ll send Theresa your way.”

“Deborah, I don’t-” Martin sighed, but she didn’t want to hear the same argument again.

“You can’t just hide in here and refuse to talk to her.” Deborah informed him, tonelessly, wearily if anything, as she placed a hand on the back of her seat to stop from leaning into the particularly large bout of turbulence that came with Martin’s distraction, “You sort out whatever’s going through your head, then we’ll talk.”

“Debs- Debbie- Deborah!” Martin practically begged as she slipped through the gap between them, and his hand shot out to take hers, his fingers curling around hers as she slowed to a halt, and looked down at where they connected; her eyes flickered to his, and the _need_ in his gaze and the way he bit down on his bottom lip almost made her lose her nerve, “Please don’t go.”

But that wasn’t enough, and had never been enough, to make Deborah give in, and she slipped her hand from Martin’s, only to watch his shoulders droop as she turned and made her way towards the Cabin.

oOoOoOo

Sitting alone in Martin’s van, in the late afternoon, wrapped in her coat and slouched to the point that she might have been able to place her feet on the dashboard if she had so desired, Deborah found herself wishing that she didn’t have such a talent for introspection; if she were just a little bit less self-absorbed, then maybe she wouldn’t be choking on miserable silence in a cold vehicle in the middle of an airfield, because she didn’t want to spend more time than necessary around the rest of her crew.

It had been a good idea to have Martin talk to Theresa, but as the flight-deck door stayed closed longer than Deborah had expected, she began to realise, like the night creeping in to swallow the sun, why the clenching, harrowing mess in her stomach hadn’t gone away, and why she felt so inexplicably anxious, with the same dreadful anticipation of the end that had seized her over a year ago.

When Deborah had heard Theresa’s voice over the phone, it had been like being thrown back into one of the worst periods of her life; it turned out that there was still a certain hopelessness that festered in the pit of her chest, doubting, and wondering whether Martin would be thrust back to that time just as she had.

Whether the sight of his beautiful, smart, intimidating ex-‘not my girlfriend’ would remind Martin that he had given up the best opportunity of his life, and a wonderful woman, just to be with _Deborah_. Whether Martin would remember that she wasn’t worth what he seemed to think she was, and if he would realise that he could have so much better.

Harry left her when he realised that she wasn’t the woman that he had once idolised, as had the first one that she barely remembered, his illusion of perfection shattered when her career had been taking off…Chris had known from the start that she was an alcoholic pilot and therefore not worth any real commitment…that had been doomed from the start.

But Martin…Martin knew all of her faults, he had never thought that she was perfect save for in that odd way that he saw her, as if what made Deborah Richardson a cad were all beautiful little quirks. It would break her heart if he realised that they were just that…faults, and flaws, and not something to adore.

And he was the only one that Deborah would understand entirely when he did. The others had been partly delusional, and she supposed, looking back, that she had wanted them only because of what they represented in her life.

Martin…god, _Martin_ …until a week ago Deborah had barely entertained a doubt that they were in love and doing well, and that their lives were made for them. Now there was a part of her wondering whether Martin would realise that he deserve so much better than life in Fitton with _her_.

Deborah was just snuggling deeper into her coat when the door swung open with a rusty creak, and the whole van dipped as Martin hoisted himself into the driver’s seat, letting in a gust of cold air before he pulled the door shut; their royal passengers must have gone on their way then, and the paperwork been completed.

“What are you doing in the van?” Martin inquired, sniffing slightly as he shuffled to sit by her side, arm pressed gently against hers, and he turned towards her, one arm over the back of the seat as if he were waiting to drop it down over her shoulders; just like that, the apathy was gone from his tone, and Deborah didn’t know what to do with that turnaround.

“I wasn’t about to drive home without you.” Deborah remarked wanly, making no effort to sit up, or lift her head from where it drooped just above her arms folded around her knees; she couldn’t just be happy again as if they hadn’t spent the day on the edge of a fight, even though she couldn’t escape the caring sympathy that leaned ever in his favour, “I’m not that cruel.”

“I never said you were.” Martin replied calmly, and Deborah could tell that he was being deliberately kind, as if to make up for his behaviour; the warmth of his presence beside her was enough on its own to make her irritation fade, leaving only a sad puddle in her chest, “What I meant was – why are you in the van, all alone, when there’s a draft coming through the crack in the ceiling?”

“I wanted to be on my own for a while.” Deborah answered honestly, shrugging minutely and letting her legs slip slowly until her feet rested against the floor, “You haven’t exactly been pleasant company today.”

“You do understand why that is though, don’t you?” Martin asked solemnly, and as Deborah tilted her head back to look up, he looked down at the hand on his lap, his eyes following the path of his thumb as he picked at his nails.

“No, I don’t.” Deborah muttered, pressing her lips into a thin line, even as she let the back of her head rest against the back of the wide seat, leaning ever so slightly on the crook of Martin’s elbow, “I was able to get over having Theresa here, but you just stayed in a mood all day.”

“You invited my ex onto _our_ plane, my safe place, without telling me.” Martin sighed a low breath full of weary frustration, shaking his head and drawing his bottom lip through his teeth, shifting against her as if caught between a weightless shrug of his shoulders and curling in on himself, “How was I supposed to react?”

“I don’t know.” Deborah replied shortly, softly, unable to muster the energy to delve into the subject; she didn’t want Martin to know what she had been thinking. Perhaps that was part of the problem.

“Y-you keep saying that.” Martin stammered, his confusion evident in the flush of his cheeks and the crinkles, pinched set of his brow, “What don’t you know? Why I’ve been in a bad mood?”

“That would be it.” Deborah remarked curtly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, as if she might need to say something quickly, or interrupt, or even to defend herself.

“Right, okay, you want to know why I’ve been in a bad mood?” Martin demanded quietly, turning even more towards her, until his knee met the edge of the seat, his arm beushign against the back of her neck as he spoke, “Because I feel guilty! I-I love you, and I would never regret choosing you over- well, everything. But I just dropped Theresa, and I was scared that she might be angry, o-or upset, o-or that she hadn’t forgiven me. So there – I’m a coward!”

“You’re not a coward, Martin.” Deborah countered, mustering the energy needed to sound just about certain as her eyes snapped up to trace the lines of his face; he was a lot of things, and she called him a lot of names, but she couldn’t stand the idea of Martin, her handsome, prissy, pedantically petulant Captain, thinking so horribly untrue things about himself.

“No?” Martin raised his eyebrows, making it clear that he didn’t believe her; Deborah simply shook her head and lifted her hand over her shoulder to hook her fingers around his, which made his stony expression soften, as his calloused hand closed around hers, and squeezed, “Sure…thank you, I suppose.”

“And that was all it was?” Deborah inquired, as Martin settled back into the seat, adjusting his jacket as he moved; she knew the moment that the words left her lips that it had been the wrong decision.

“What did you think it was?” Martin retorted, the bridge of his nose crinkling just long enough for his eyes to narrow as realisation hit.

“Nothing…” Deborah assured him swiftly, letting his hand withdraw from hers, and sitting up quickly, rolling her shoulders back and assuming the posture of a woman discussing a matter of little importance, “I didn’t know what to think.”

“What are…oh, Deborah…” Martin trailed off as he looked into her eyes, leaning forwards and bridging the gap between them as if proximity might help him decipher the truth; it only served to make the pained light in his eyes more visible, “y-you thought that…that what?”

“I don’t know what you’re jabbering on about.” Deborah replied, looking away, turning her head and dropping her chin so that the few untameable locks of hair fell over her cheek, and she could try to keep her lips from trembling as she stared unwavering at the dashboard; she didn’t want to fight anymore, they’d already done that today.

“Y-yes you do. That’s not your angry face, that’s your upset face.” Martin insisted, pointing loosely with his hand curled as the other ran over the back of his neck, and his cheeks blanched, erasing the charm of the red in them, “You thought I’d – what, change my mind? You _did!_ You said that you weren’t mad at _her_ , so it has to be me.”

“I-I…” Deborah tried to think of something that she could say, something that might make her lack of faith less real, but nothing came; it was the truth, and she was too compromised already to make a real effort at denying it.

“You thought I’d ditch you and try and get Theresa back?” Martin demanded weakly, mouth agape as he looked at her, his hands shifting to gesture at himself, as if he were blaming himself, as he was wont to do.

“Martin-” Deborah started, but even she knew that it wouldn’t stand against Martin’s stunned horror; perhaps a part of her wanted him to know, so that he could give her a straight answer and she could just stop worrying.

“How could you possibly think that, after everything we’ve been through?” Martin’s eyes were glinting in a way that made Deborah want to reach forwards and wrap her arms around him, to reassure him that there was no need for tears to be there at all; but his aghast demeanour sparked something else in her, something more desperate, like a light to an already sparking fuse.

“Because you _could_!” Deborah exclaimed weakly, her voice not quite holding, and she had to take a deep breath as Martin froze, eyes boring into hers, hands hovering in the air, “Martin, no matter how much you love me, and I _know_ that you do, there’s still a small part of me that thinks that you could do so much better, and Theresa _is_ the better.”

“You think I could do better?” Martin repeated, as if he were hearing some sort of new language; his hands lowered slowly to rest of his lap, and he seemed to sag imperceptibly, leaning sideways against the back of the seat, meeting her face to face.

“I think you could do anything you wanted.” Deborah replied pathetically, she thought, knowing detachedly that this sort of thing would make flight-deck teasing just a tad less charged; but she meant it, every word, even though it ached to admit it, “That’s why I love you. That’s why I’m always pushing you to join in social events, and make friends with the grounds crew, and just try everything.”

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but Martin didn’t speak at first; he just looked at Deborah, his eyes flickering minutely over her face as if he were reading her, his upset anger replaced by a bewildered frustration, as his eyebrows dipped in the middle.

“You know what I’ve never understood about you – that I, I’ve always really loved as well?” Martin inquired, just as Deborah began to feel as if she couldn’t just sit there any longer, and that she would have to say something.

“What?” she replied tentatively, blinking across at him, hoping that it was something good, something that she could work with.

What Deborah hadn’t been expecting was for Martin to shift closer to her, slipping his knees from beneath him and raising his arm back up so that he could use his hand on her shoulder to pull her closer, bringing them back together.

“That even though you have the biggest, most obnoxious ego in the world, you still manage to have the self-esteem of a gnat.” Martin concluded, as Deborah allowed herself to be lowered into his side, and his arm curled around her waist, encompassing her arm, hugging her into the warmth of his chest as he rested his cheek against her hair.

“One of those big gnats that survive when all the others have been squashed.” Deborah added, unable to stop herself, buoyed imperceptibly by being accepted so readily back into Martin’s arms now that he knew that there were doubts in her mind; he really was too good for her.

“See what I mean?” Martin asked, and she could feel him smirking into her hair, his breath puffing past her cheek as his arm squeezed a little tighter, a comforting embrace for him to take pleasure from as much as her.

“Perhaps…” Deborah reluctantly agreed; she turned just enough that she could shuffle down and rest her forehead against the curve of his chin and his neck, inhaling deeply and simply trying to eject the discomfort of the day from her mind, “I’m sorry Martin.”

“That’s alright, dear.” Martin murmured in her ear, exhaustion beginning to creep into his voice, “Do you want to go home?”

“Only if we can stay here for a few more minutes.” Deborah replied, slowly extracting her arm from where it pressed against her chest so that she could wrap it around Martin’s instead; this was a good moment, one of reconciliation, and they had to cherish it for as long as was possible, “Then I’m going to bed, and I’m going to sleep, and you may join me if you wish.”

Curled together as they were, Deborah could feel Martin’s chuckle vibrating through his chest like a low tremor, and it was enough to allow her to close her eyes, and just enjoy being comfortable for the first time all day. Things weren’t quite okay yet, there was definitely a lot of turbulence…but they would manage.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

**Chapter Four**

Humming a lilting tune under her breath, and tying her hair back and out of the way, Deborah knelt beside the oven to retrieve the six or seven scolding trays in her glove clad hands, placing them on the counter just to the side. It was a reasonably cool day, but the pulsing heat from the oven was still a tad stifling from the floor; it was worth the minute discomfort for the sake of the quaint little cakes that all glistened in the bands of light from the window.

Martin was away on a van job, so Deborah had the flat to herself to experiment; nevertheless, he needed to be there for the last stage of her task. It was something to do though, baking, and something that she didn’t often have time to indulge in; tomorrow was a special occasion though, so today was the day for special activities.

There were just a few more things to sort out before Martin came home; they were small touches, but highly significant, Deborah thought. Blowing across the top of the cakes, Deborah pushed the gloves from her hands and abandoned them on the counter, before turning and wandering lazily through to the sitting room, plucking her phone from where she had flung it onto the coffee table.

Pressing the device to her ear, Deborah inspected her nails and glanced protectively back into the kitchen as the dial tone rang dully and monotonously, cutting off with a click and a crackle.

“ _Deborah. What do you want on your day off?”_ Carolyn’s voice rattled down the line, as sharp and disinterested as always, though perhaps not as world weary; it must have been a restful day so far, _“The day off that you have been nagging me about for the best part of a month.”_

“Yes, hello Carolyn; always a pleasure.” Deborah drawled, dropping down to lie back on the sofa, kicking her feet up on the coffee table, as she had been careful not to do when Martin was around to scold her for it; this was too important an occasion, and she had spent too long planning, for her to bother arguing, “I wanted to talk about tomorrow.”

“ _We’re flying to Budapest tomorrow.”_ Carolyn replied matter-of-factly; she was being helpful, which was something, Deborah supposed, as the woman could just have easily have disregarded her request and obstructed her attempts at polite conversation, as she was wont to do, _“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to expand upon that matter.”_

“I meant after the flight.” Deborah reiterated, picking at the corner of her thumb as she stared at the corner of the coffee table, shifting her feet and focusing on the call; the flight would be easy, and Martin would enjoy it, it was just the rest of the day that needed arranging, “Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten its Martin’s birthday tomorrow?”

“ _How could I?”_ Carolyn sighed, and it was easy to imagine her rolling her eyes and groaning, as Deborah smirked at the idea, _“That’s just one more thing that you’ve been nagging me about.”_

“With good reason.” Deborah remarked, smiling to herself as a warm fluttering filled her chest; it had been hard work, sneaking around and swearing Arthur to secrecy was worth it, especially given how well Martin was going to react when she unveiled her efforts.

“ _Hmmm…”_ Carolyn hummed down the line; that wasn’t assent, but it wasn’t a flat out refusal to hear her suggestions either, so all was still up in the air, so to speak, _“Well, as you know, I don’t partake in all of these birthday traditions that you three are so fond of.”_

“Unless of course you’re the one receiving the gifts.” Deborah retorted smoothly, awaiting the inevitable backlash; she could recall Arthur’s failed attempt to surprise his mother with the unwanted appearance of his aunt very well. It was a day that none of them were likely to forget…the memory of Martin bruised and squealing simultaneously made her wince and smile reluctantly.

“ _I’m not about to turn down gifts that you’ve all spent time and effort on.”_ Carolyn replied curtly, her hypocrisy bleeding through; it was good to hear that she was in a good mood, despite having her day off disturbed, _“Not that you or Martin have ever put that effort in.”_

“Arthur is celebratory enough for all of us.” Deborah countered wanly, pushing a hand through her hair; it was true, Arthur had been close to bursting for at least a week now, despite his duties being simple and fairly insignificant, and there being no real reason for imaginative endeavour. It was nice to have someone in on her schemes though, so Deborah had hushed him up and let him go about his own business.

 “ _Exactly, hence why if anything is provided for tomorrow, it will be Arthur’s creation, not mine.”_ Carolyn remarked dryly; the idea of Carolyn providing special circumstances for Martin had never entered Deborah’s mind.

“Arthur said he was bringing decent food for the flight, just to make it special.” Deborah explained, deliberately clinging to the hope that everything would run smoothly, but knowing that with Arthur’s involvement, it probably wouldn’t; she couldn’t be sure, but that sentiment probably leeched into her dull tone of voice, “Normally I’d be worried, but I gave him a list of things Martin particularly likes, so he can’t deviate too much.”

“ _Then why are you calling me?”_ Carolyn inquired, the exasperation in her tone wild and evident, _“I would have assumed, given the state of your relationship, that_ you _would be seeing to any ‘celebrations’.”_

“Oh, believe me I am.” Deborah drawled, smirking at the audible huff and wince from the other end of the line; for all that she used her crew as pawns in her odd relationship with Herc, Carolyn was still beautifully disgusted by the fluffy interactions between her pilots, “However, I thought it might be nice, so long as you haven’t made other plans, if the four of us hunted down a restaurant in Budapest and had a sort of…company meal.”

“ _You think that the one thing Martin will want, after spending his birthday in a flying metal tube with us, is to spend even more time in our presence?”_ Carolyn clarified, sounding unconvinced despite the ingenuity of the plan; if it had been four, perhaps even three years ago, Deborah might have agreed with the sentiment.

“No. I think that Martin will love being the centre of attention, and feeling as if we all care.” Deborah answered honestly, swallowing the temptation to play it cool and aloof; sitting on the sofa and behaving like a guard dog watching her cakes was hardly a position to be in when pretending not to care, “I will of course be making his day and night as…enjoyable as possible, but I think that the four of us going out to dinner is important.”

“ _Oh, if you say so.”_ Carolyn groaned, and Deborah couldn’t help but grin triumphantly; there was no doubt however that she would try and receive some sort of quid pro quo, _“Deborah, I-”_

Mercifully though, the sound of the front door clicking and swishing open alerted Deborah to the entrance that she had missed, presumably too distracted to have heard the rumbling of the van; turning to peer over the back of the sofa, Deborah smiled warmly at the sight of Martin shirking his coat and kicking the door closed with the back of his foot, and pressed the warm plastic of the phone more tightly against her ear, sucking her head so that he wouldn’t see it when he turned around.

“Got to go, Martin’s home.” Deborah whispered hastily, and with that she hung up, dropping the phone onto the cushions beside her and leaping to her feet, plastering on a genuinely welcoming expression; pleasured even further by the reflexive smile and the flush in Martin’s cheeks, she strode across the room to meet him, flinging her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close enough that she could feel the warmth of his chest against hers, and press a kiss to his cheek before resting her own against it, “Martin, darling, how was your day?”

“It was alright I suppose…better now that I’m home.” Martin replied, his voice low and pleasantly surprised as his arms wound around her, and he hugged her close, the palm of his hand pressing and rubbing circles at her back between her shoulder blades; Deborah didn’t think that she would ever grow tired of the charming little sparks of happiness that flickered from her stomach to her lungs at the sensation of being tucked and curled around him, even as Martin leant back just so and remarked, “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done something that you don’t want me to know about?”

“On the contrary, I’m simply pleased to see you.” Deborah purred, leaning back enough that she could rest the curves of her arms around Martin’s shoulders, and meet his blue eyes, take in the attractive red flush at him cheeks as his lips curled, and he held her close and comfortably; with all of her celebratory scheming, Deborah had found herself caught by a wonderful tumult of affection that had carried her throughout the week, but made it hard to let him walk out the door on jobs when she was craving his company so, “I’ve missed you today; barely stopped thinking about you.”

“Oh, you really are in a good mood.” Martin remarked, scrunching his nose as he dipped his chin down to press his lips to hers, and Deborah responded in kind, enjoying the intimacy; after a moment, she realised that he wasn’t just making adorable faces, but was in fact sniffing the air, his eyes wandering over her shoulders and towards the kitchen, “Have you been cooking?”

“Baking in fact; very different.” Deborah corrected him, smirking at the way his eyebrows pinched and he tried to peer into the kitchen; after indulging in one last kiss, Deborah slapped her palms gently against Martin’s shoulders, and took a step back, taking his hand and pulling him in her wake across the room, relieved to _finally_ be able to take the last steps in her plans, “Come and have a look.”

Martin allowed Deborah to lead him into the kitchen, trotting behind her and nosing over her shoulder, sniffing loudly as he inspected the neat rows of fairy cakes, still nestled in their baking trays; the interested glitter in his widening eyes was more rewarding than the perfectly shaped and risen fruits of her labours.

“Wow…someone’s been busy.” Martin whistled through his teeth, and reached out as if to poke at one of the larger cakes, and then hastily withdrew his hand and smiled sheepishly, rubbing his hands together; his other arm rested at Deborah’s back, tracing idle circles on her back, “Not that I’m complaining…but why do we need this many fairy cakes?”

“Because, I need to work out what type of cake you prefer.” Deborah explained proudly, cherishing the surprise that flashed across Martin’s face, and the small bright sound that squeaked in his throat; it was nice this, discovering new kinks in their relationship that they hadn’t covered yet, and then smoothing them out, “I can’t bake you the perfect cake each year if I don’t know which is your favourite.”

“Oh, _Deborah_.”  Martin exclaimed, as if he couldn’t be sure whether to be exasperated or flattered, as he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth and rubbed his free hand over the back of his neck; either way, it wasn’t hard to see the appreciation shining wetly in his eyes, even as he leaned his head against the top of hers, “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble; we’re going to be on GERTI for most of tomorrow anyway.”

“Which is exactly why we need cake to cheer us up.” Deborah remarked brightly, gazing up at his face; perhaps she was just in a particularly good mood, but Martin _did_ look handsome today, a bit red faced and worn from a long day’s lifting and lugging furniture, “Besides, I’ve been on my own all day with nothing to do; it was this, or rearranging your bookcase.”

“No, you mustn’t do that.” Martin muttered distractedly, still wavering between touching and not touching her handiwork; if he had been a dog, his mouth would have been watering with desire, “Mmm, they smell delicious.”

“They should all _taste_ delicious.” Deborah drawled, grinning as she leaned into his embrace and pressed her lips to his shoulder; then she stepped away and waved her hand over the various trays, getting down to business, “What I’ve done, is made three cakes for each consistency – sponge, madeira, you get the picture. Within each consistency, I’ve made three different mystery flavours, of which you need to choose one.”

“So you want me to eat all of these cakes so that you know which one I like best?” Martin inquired, coyly, as if he were being offered a holy grail that he wasn’t allowed to possess, his eyes flickering between Deborah and the cakes; a small smirk crept onto his lips, indicating a job well done, “Are we forgoing real food today?”

“It is your birthday tomorrow.” Deborah reminded him, as if he hadn’t been jittering in anticipation for days already; it was always fun to lead Martin from the path of the righteous and into the waters of playfulness, “I think we can get away with eating a lot of cake for dinner tonight. Right – onto the tasting. And, rest assured, although I used my grandmother’s recipes for some of these, I made sure to leave out the almonds.”

There were many things that they still needed to learn, but a lot that they didn’t; Deborah had paid enough attention to Martin’s comings and goings to know that giving him almonds was tantamount to signing his death sentence – or, that had been the message that she had received from the way that he had panicked the first and only time he had been exposed to them on board GERTI.

“Thank you…” Martin sighed, his expression softening as he pulled Deborah close and hugged her tightly; anyone would think that such a simple consideration was the greatest gesture of love that he had ever been given, as when he pulled away, his eyes never left her face, and his voice was filled with something akin to reverence, “I love you.”

“You haven’t tasted them yet.” Deborah retorted fondly, and with that she pushed him away with a gentle hand, fighting a laugh that pricked at the corners of her lips.

From there the afternoon washed away, in tides of laughter, as Deborah lifted each cake daintily to Martin’s lips, only to have him grapple it from her and bring it to hers, forcing her to taste everything that she foisted on him; laughing turned to giggling and playful struggling, and before either of them knew it, they were giggling and toppling into bed, frightfully happy with the world.

oOoOoOo

Predictably, or at least it should have been, the flight to Budapest didn’t go according to plan; in reality, Deborah’s plans for a smooth, Martin-pleasing flight, should never have even formed what with her prior knowledge of how their life worked. It was interesting though, and it wouldn’t have been a good MJN flight without something going wrong; the only way that things could have been worse was if they had had passengers.

About an hour into the air, during a comfortable lull in the game that Deborah had struck up, Martin sat up a little straighter in his seat, and pushed his hat back atop his head, scrunching his nose up as he sniffed, and looked around at the controls and over his shoulder. Deborah shifted slightly, unhooking one leg from over the other and losing the relaxation in her shoulders so that she would be able to react if she had to, though she doubted that anything serious was occurring, as Martin was quick to fret.

“Can you…can you smell smoke?” Martin asked, still peering around the flight-deck, almost clambering over the side of his seat in his search for the elusive scent; his expression pinched into an odd blend of perplexed nervousness, “That is smoke that I can smell – not – no, I’m not imagining it.”

“Hold on.” Deborah sighed, resting both of her hands on the arms of her seat, and inhaling deeply just to placate him; GERTI was always alerting them to things that weren’t really happening, so she doubted that there was anything truly wrong while the lights were all dim, and the warnings silent…or so she had thought, “Yes, I actually _can_.” It was faint, but it was definitely there, the ashy odour that couldn’t possibly be mistaken; Deborah’s eyebrows knitted, as she ran her eyes over the corners of the flight-deck, ignoring Martin’s flailing at her side, “ That’s _weird_.”

“Forget weird!” Martin squawked, inhaling sharply and glaring at her; he really was an overly dramatic worrier, “Where’s it coming from?”

“I don’t know.” Deborah replied honestly, refreshingly bewildered by the inexplicable smell of smoke that was nonetheless drifting around the small space; she reached forwards, shifting to perch more efficiently in her seat, and pressing and turning the controls, pursing her lips in confusion, “The controls are all working…we’re flying normally…it’s just smoke.”

While Deborah jabbed idly at the controls, tapping here and there, adjusting the altitude and speed just to test that everything was in fact in order, Martin flicked the switch for the intercom.

“Arthur, are you cooking something?” Martin demanded perhaps a little too harshly, though that could be excused given that he was actually investigating instead of panicking, as he might have once upon a time.

“ _No.”_ Arthur sounded the perfectly normal approximation of confused, so there couldn’t have been anything going wrong in the Cabin; Deborah took this as her cue to continue waggling the controls to see if any of them provided an explanation, _“Would you like me to? I’m sure there’s something in the Galley.”_

“No, thank you Arthur.”  Martin sighed, and as he flicked the intercom off, he slumped back in his seat and went to push a hand through his hair, knocking his hat back in the process; the weight of the world might as well have settled on his shoulders, “Well, that’s it; we’re going to have to ditch in somewhere.”

“For once, Captain, I agree wholeheartedly.” Deborah murmured, barely catching the throaty noise that Martin made which indicated his surprise; no matter how much she batted at the controls, and twisted this and that, she couldn’t work out where the smoke was coming from, it was maddening, “Would you like me to contact ATC?”

“No it’s alright, I’ve got it.” Martin replied wanly; the despair in his voice and the slump in his shoulders survived throughout the entirety of his conversation with ATC, and all the way through the adjustment of their course to the nearest airport.

“Stop wobbling the controls!” Martin snapped after watching Deborah do just that for five minutes more; she sat back, lifting her hands into the air and raising her eyebrows at him, which was enough to make Martin groan and grimace apologetically at her, “I can’t believe it – today of all days; it just wouldn’t be my birthday without something going wrong.”

“I’m sorry darling.” Deborah remarked, dropping her arm across the gap between them to brush the backs of her knuckles against his; as Martin nodded, she plastered on a coy smirk, eager to resurrect the mood as quickly as possible, “As soon as night falls I’ll make sure to have things go _very_ right.”

“Thank you, dear.” Martin murmured, clumsily batting her hand in an attempt to wind his fingers around hers; if anything, the way that he tried to smile, and gazed warmly, longingly into Deborah’s eyes, was enough to make up for the sour turn that his mood had taken.

It made her feel as if she were the one bright spot in the cloudy mess of Martin’s day…and that was rather nice.

oOoOoOo

Martin had been a bit…off since his birthday; nothing bad, and nothing particularly worrying…it just seemed harder to maintain a conversation with him lately, and while he was happy to sit with his arm around Deborah’s shoulders, or curled around her, he would drift off as if in thought, his hands rapping, jittering, on whatever was within his reach.

That was alright though; if Martin needed his peace every now and again, then Deborah was as willing to give him that as he was willing to allow her time to ruminate occasionally. They simply functioned that way; most of the time they were inseparable, sometimes bickering enough so that there was never a lack of passionate affection when the bickering stopped, as if to make up for what they had missed…but every now and then it was nice to be near each other, but to have just enough time to themselves that they didn’t quite start to miss each other.

So today, when Martin had dropped down behind his desk to sort out his log book and whatever other paperwork he found in the works, Deborah had dropped a kiss on his cheek and given his shoulders a squeeze, before letting him be and retreating back to GERTI, where Arthur was still clearing up after their previous flight.

“So what are you up to tonight?” Deborah inquired lazily, lounging on the reclined seat of Row A, and watching Arthur push his vacuum cleaner up and down the aisle in short truncated sweeps; she had been trying especially hard not to let herself become too detached from what was going on in Arthur’s life since she and Martin had become more involved in each other; as her oldest friend, it would have been wrong of her to neglect him, “Feet up, or the thrilling night life of Fitton?”

“Um, that depends on what Mum’s doing.” Arthur replied, shrugging as he glanced over his shoulder; Deborah quirked her eyebrows, and he elaborated further, “She’s been a bit down lately, because Herc’s too busy to really talk – but don’t tell her I said that.”

“I see.” Deborah hummed, nodding sagely; Carolyn could prevaricate all she liked, there was no denying that she was attached to Herc, and still missing him for every day that he was still in Switzerland, “You’ve come up with a plan to cheer her up then?”

“Oh, yeah!” Arthur assured her, turning and heading back towards her, pushing the vacuum cleaner in front of him; he had to raise his voice over the rattling and whirring screech, but that didn’t temper his confidence, “The amateur dramatic society in Fitton’s putting on a play tonight, one of the gory ones that Mum likes, so I thought I’d get her to go to that with me.”

“Perhaps…” Deborah replied uncertainly, pursing her lips as she tried to imagine Carolyn watching the youth and elderly of Fitton prancing about on a makeshift stage; it would have been humorous if she hadn’t been sure that the repercussions would fall upon _them_ the next day, “I’m sure the gore with make up for the rather _amateur_ aspect of the performance. In fact, I don’t think anything would cheer Carolyn up like the sight of amateur actors getting murdered.”

“Yeah, she likes that sort of thing.” Arthur agreed thoughtfully, he turned off the cleaner with a click, and as Deborah’s ears adjusted to the ringing silence, stood it up to prop himself up on, and turned his attention back to her, “Have you not got anything planned then?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Deborah admitted dryly, doing nothing to adjust her slouch; when Martin was finished with his paperwork, then she would move, but until then, nothing could move her from the slither of comfort that she had managed to discover on the plane, “Why?”

“No reason.” Arthur answered, a little too quickly, his eyes darting across the floor; he really was a terrible liar, his face going a funny red colour even now, “It’s just, I’m hovering, and you’re still here. Which is brilliant, but I’d have thought that you’d be in the porta-cabin with Skip, or going home with him, or…I don’t know; not still on the plane though.”

“I thought I’d let Martin do his paperwork in peace.” Deborah sighed, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly and smiling thinly; it wasn’t exactly an inconvenience, so there was no real reason to feel dejected or bored.

“That’s nice of you.” Arthur remarked, nodding slowly; a moment of silence stretched between them, in which Deborah simply hummed her agreement, and Arthur’s expression shifted into something that might have been concern, as he shifted to stand a little straighter, peering at down Deborah, “Are you alright? It’s just, I was waiting for you to say something then, but you didn’t.”

“I’m fine, it’s just…” Deborah thought about lying and brushing off the inquiry, but then something in her throat caught, and she couldn’t; there was no point lying to Arthur, and it wouldn’t hurt to share the thoughts that hadn’t quite made it to the light yet, “I’ve been giving Martin a lot of peace recently. I’m actually starting to miss him.”

“But you see him at home?” Arthur asked, as if that solved everything; in his world, it probably did.

“Yes, of course I do.” Deborah replied nonchalantly, curling her arms around her middle as she settled more comfortably into the reclining seat; it was entirely true that she and Martin were joined at the hip, so she didn’t really have anything to be complaining about, “But he’s been…distracted, I suppose. He’s perfectly affectionate, I just miss the banter.”

“Do you think something’s happened?” Arthur’s voice lowered into a conspiratorial hush that on any other day might have been amusing, but today was just about right; Deborah couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed her mind once or twice, in her darker moments, with nothing to distract her.

“It might have.” Deborah muttered, tipping her head back so that she could inspect the dusty curve of the ceiling; Martin was trustworthy though, so she had nothing to worry about, “But if it were a matter of life and death, he’d have told me by now. I’m sure that everything will be okay in a while; it’s just waiting for that while to pass that’s not so fun.”

“Oh…” it was clear that Arthur didn’t know what to make of that, but as always, his relentless faith in the world carried him through to a smile, and he patted the vacuum cleaner for emphasis as he reassured her, “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

Before Deborah had time to do much more than quirk her eyebrows in a facsimile of acceptance, the Cabin door creaked open, letting in the hazy wash of early evening sky, and the reasonably smart cut of the Captain, his uniform pulled neatly around his shoulders and his hat clasped in his hands; Deborah noticed immediately that Martin wasn’t quite himself, the absence of his hat on his head being the first indicator, so pulled her seat upright the moment that she laid eyes on him, and waited for his head to stop darting this way and that in search of her.

“There you are.” Martin panted when his eyes fell upon Deborah’s expectant expression, as if he had been jogging up the metal steps to try and find her; he was probably just anxious to go home, having noticed that she hadn’t I fact waited in the porta-cabin (so distracted had he been before), “I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Well, now you’ve found me.” Deborah remarked brightly, pleased to see that Martin had returned to the land of the aware and undistracted; she swung her legs down onto the floor, and rose to her feet, just as Martin stepped forwards to stand beside Row A, helping her up with a hand dropped to his side, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yep – I-I mean, yes and no…” Martin replied, and he tried to smile, a charming scarlet flush seeping into his cheeks, as his hands wandered through the air, eventually landing on Deborah’s back; he jittered as if he were caught between dissolving into a cuddle and leading her away, completely oblivious to Arthur’s presence, as his eyes never left her face, “Come on, we can talk on the way back to the car.”

“Alright, have it your way.” Deborah feigned an exasperated sigh, but allowed Martin to turn clumsily on his heel and take her by the hand, gripping perhaps a tad too tightly; before they could make it through the doors, she tugged in return and called over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow Arthur; have fun tonight.”

“Okay, you too.” Arthur replied, waving quickly and grinning as he watched them disappear; Deborah couldn’t even see him anymore when he raised his voice and shouted cheerfully in their wake, “Bye Skip.”

“Goodbye Arthur.” Martin practically yelled, though his tone was so automatic that Deborah wasn’t sure he had heard anything at all, and that he wasn’t simply functioning on auto-pilot; it wasn’t until they were at the bottom of the steps that Martin even slowed, so that he could shrug his jacket more tightly around his chest against the faint breeze, and grimace apologetically at Deborah.

“You _don’t_ want to go home then?” Deborah inquired, arching her eyebrows and trying not to smirk fondly as she hooked her arm through his, and Martin slipped his hands into his pockets, allowing her to start up a slow pace towards the car-park; it didn’t take more than a glance at his cheeks, flushed enough that the freckles almost faded into the soft angles of his face, and the fluttering of his eyes, to know that he was nervous about something.

“Um, no – I thought we could do something romantic.” Martin replied brightly, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth and stumbling slightly as he turned to face her while walking; he raised his free palm into the air, as if he were proposing a project of some sort, “N-not a date, or anything like that, just something nice, l-like when we go up on the roof of the porta-cabin.”

“It’s a bit too damp to be going up there tonight; but it’s a lovely idea.” Deborah remarked, giving the idea serious consideration, and leaning into Martin’s side just a tad; after a week or so of detachment, this sudden lathering of attention was enough to warm the strings in her chest, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. I um, I didn’t really think that far ahead – it was a spur of the moment idea.” Martin laughed apologetically, more of a nervous chuckle really; his fingers were winding anxiously around hers, shifting and bumping their knuckles together, “Where do _you_ want to go? If you could go anywhere – w-within reason, a-and within a twenty mile radius.”

“There’s a park in the next town that I’ve always wanted to visit.” Deborah mused, unable to keep the warm smile from rippling onto her lips and infecting her whole expression, as she hummed affectionately and leaned into the comfortable warmth of Martin beside her; this was nice…surprising, but nice…“It’s supposed to be beautiful; a designated area of natural beauty actually.”

“I didn’t know that.” Martin murmured, pausing in his stride sharply enough that Deborah was only saved from tripping by his grip on her hand; when she looked up into his eyes, it was to find him surveying her with an odd expression, his brow furrowed in what might have been curiosity, “Why haven’t you mentioned that before?”

“It’s never seemed particularly important.” Deborah replied honestly, shrugging her shoulders and putting just enough weight on Martin’s arm that he started walking across the tarmac once more; with everything else that had happened between them, the past year and a bit had passed in a haze of getting things right, and insignificant trifles had been the last thing on Deborah’s mind.

“But you’ve never been on your own?” Martin asked, in the same tone of voice that he might have used if he had been asked whether he had ever shown an interest in planes; as the sort of man that would happily trot around Duxford on his own, he had never seemed to understand Deborah’s tendency to withhold herself from the things that she enjoyed.

“I don’t know about you, darling, but I’ve always thought that there was something quite sad about visiting parks on one’s own.” Deborah drawled, smirking when she heard Martin snort at her side; she was the sort of person to relax at home, but when out of the house, everything had a purpose, and was structured for appearance’s sake.

“Yes, it is a bit.” Martin chuckled, then his eyes widened, and his cheeks managed to turn an ever darker shade of red, as he hastily tried to amend his previous statement; Deborah could only hold in a giggle at his efforts, “Not that you’re sad – you’re not – I’ll…I’ll stop now.”

oOoOoOo

The park really was beautiful, especially in the near night air, with quaint little lamps posted along the footpaths to ensure that its guests remained illuminated at all times; thrilling adventures were alright, but every now and then Deborah couldn’t help but be charmed by the blankets of intricately arranged flowers and trees, and the overall impression of a fairy-tale devised for the sake of dog walkers and adolescents sneaking away from their homes.

As the sky washed from a pale blend into a dark mass spackled by pricks of light and muggy wisps of cloud cover, and Deborah’s feet began to ache just a tad, they found a bench that wasn’t vandalised or occupied, between the tree line and a small approximation of a lake; it was there, sat back comfortably with Martin’s arm around her waist, her head resting against his shoulder, wonderfully surrounded by the warmth of his form and his attention, that Deborah felt her mind laying down to rest after a week of wondering and worrying.

“This is lovely.” Deborah murmured, inhaling deeply as she felt the zip of Martin’s jacket brushing against her cheek, and his breath against her hair; they didn’t even have to be doing anything in particular for this to be pleasant…it was just good to be close to someone who understood and appreciated her.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Martin agreed, a low noise in the base of his throat, as his hand curled reflexively around her waist; he was still fidgeting and jittering against her, but he had barely said a word of nervousness, so Deborah didn’t bother to find out what was bothering him. He would tell her when he was ready.

“Well, don’t take all of the credit; coming here was my idea.” Deborah purred, letting her eyes trace the slightly grimy veneer of the water of the lake; she had to give him some credit though, for taking the initiative, “I am glad that you suggested an outing though.”

“Hmmm….” Martin hummed happily, his chest rumbling pleasantly against Deborah’s side; then his eyes widened, and his eyebrows dipped; he shifted so that he could look her in the eyes, “Wait, hold on - there was a tone there, there was definitely a tone.”

“No tone…I cross my heart.” Deborah promised, playfully pouting her lips and making a little crossing motion over her chest; Martin’s eyes continued to trace over the lines of her face, so she sighed, and indulged his interest, “It’s just…you’ve seemed quite distracted lately, and I’ve let you be; it’s nice to be away from home and without distractions. It’s nice to have all of your attention.”

“You’ve always got my attention.” Martin replied determinedly, but he blinked sheepishly, pressing his lips together as he finally tore his eyes from her face to look over the lake; he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck as he spoke, finally explaining the question that Deborah hadn’t asked, but had been dying to, “I…I’ll admit, I have been a bit…I’ve been doing my own thing, but I _have_ been thinking of you, all the time.”

“You know, instead of thinking about me, you _could_ be _with_ me.” Deborah suggested coyly, batting her eyelashes at him, making him blush all the more as his arm fidgeted around her waist; she was relieved that there was nothing truly wrong, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy teasing him, “It’s just as pleasant, I assume.”

“Of course, I’d rather be _with_ you.” Martin retorted hastily, his lips curling into a smile that he seemed too nervous to maintain, ducking his head down as of to hide his face; Deborah allowed a few inches of space to appear between them, though Martin’s arm remained a comforting presence around her waist, “But I…I-I needed to be thinking and working things out these past few weeks, so I-I-I’m sorry if I’ve been neglecting you, I haven’t been trying to, I-”

“You haven’t been neglecting me; it’s been peaceful.” Deborah assured him softly, letting her hand drop down to rest upon his knee, squeezing gently, “Is there something wrong? Something that I can help with perhaps?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.” Martin shook his head, plastering on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes; without another word, his hand stopped jittering, and he pulled Deborah closed with the arm around her waist, resting his cheek against the top of her head, letting whole minutes of silence pass by, and her guard drop back down into calm, before asking in a tone of voice that barely rose above a whisper, “Hey, Deborah?”

“Yes Martin?” Deborah replied, just as quietly, cocking her eyebrows even though Martin couldn’t see the motion.

“I…I need to talk to you.” Martin remarked, stammering and swallowing hard enough that Deborah could _hear_ his throat bobbing nervously; Deborah turned obediently as Martin pulled back from her, so that he could look her in the eye, “I-it’s nothing bad, i-it’s just…it’s important, so um…” he began arranging himself, turning so that their knees knocked, and he could take both of her hands in his, grasping tightly enough that it might have stung if Deborah hadn’t been so intrigued, “Come here, like that…there…here we go.”

“Are you alright?” Deborah inquired, attempting to decipher the emotion in Martin’s eyes, ignoring the loose strands of hair that fell into her line of sight as her hands were unavailable to clear her field of vision; it had been a while since Martin had been so…pent up, and that was troubling.

“I am – I-I’m fine.” Martin nodded quickly, stumbling over his words; something about the way that he looked at her made little moths whirl in Deborah’s chest, but they were tempered with trepidation, “I just…I just wanted to ask whether, um…” Martin ducked his head again, and shook his head, flushing and biting down on his bottom lip, “No, hold on, this isn’t working – come back, it was better like this.”

Moving jerkily, Martin released Deborah’s hands and shuffled back to her side, winging his arm around her waist as before and tugging her close, embracing her, clinging despite his deliberate positioning, facing steadfastly forwards; it was enough to elate the hardness in her guts and made Deborah laugh and relax into his hold.

“Ah, there’s the perfectionist I love, Captain.” Deborah drawled, shifting so that her arm lay along his, and she could slip her fingers into the gaps between his at her waist; this didn’t explain what he was up to though, “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything – there!” Martin exclaimed suddenly, when their position was perfect in his opinion, though Deborah couldn’t pinpoint what it was that he had perfected; it might have been that she could now see his face and look into his eyes, which were darting here there and everywhere as he stuttered, “Alright…okay…fine, this is fine…o-kay…”

“Martin, darling, calm down.” Deborah instructed sternly, forcing herself not to smirk at Martin’s typical floundering; something was going on in his head, but she couldn’t begin to imagine what it was, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” Martin replied, more certainly than before, almost stilling and nodding as if to himself; this confidence lasted all of a fraction of a second, before he was shuddering again, his words tumbling over one another, “Debs- Deborah…I…h-h-how would you feel i-i-if I, um, if I were to, um, howouldyoufeelifiaskyoutomarme!”

“I’m sorry?” Deborah remarked, her brow knitting as she ran her eyes over his face, shifting away so that she didn’t have to tip her head back; she was used to having things blurted at her, but this was a particularly vivid example of Martin’s way with words.

“How…would you feel…” Martin repeated, his voice shaking more than his hands seemed to be against his knees, while he steadied himself, and bit down on his lip, his eyes boring into Deborah’s; it was his ‘Captain’ face, that he donned when the alarms blared and he had to make a command decision, “i-if I asked you to marry me?”

“ _Martin_ …” Deborah could hardly let out a breath of air, as she felt her expression wash clean of everything, and her eyes open wide, as she blinked slowly at him; her heart seemed to stutter to a halt, caught off guard by the rush of hot and cold flutters that raged in her lungs, and made her mind freeze like a tape at the end of its reel.

Understanding arrived within a matter of seconds, but processing Martin’s request tool moments more, as Deborah was overwhelmed with a rush of emotion, raw thrill and glittering joy shimmering through her veins and making her eyes prickle, a lump form in her throat. She had known that this might come, one day, they had spoken about this sort of thing; Deborah knew that Martin wanted her indefinitely…but this was…different…beautifully, wonderfully different, and she needed to get her head in gear.

“You don’t have to answer me now.” Martin assured her hastily, raising his hands into the air as if in surrender; his jaw was trembling as he spoke, and his eyes looked as damp as Deborah’s felt.

“Oh, _darling…”_ was all that Deborah could say, as she reflexively laid her hand over her chest, as if to pin down the flurry of affection that surged in her lungs; Martin had told her, a long time ago, that he would ask permission before doing _anything_ like this, but she hadn’t anticipated how his coy professionalism would impossibly make her love him even more than she already did.

“That’s um, that’s not an answer.” Martin murmured, almost as if he was afraid to do so; he stared down at his lap, his eyes flickering up to meet hers every now and again, as his hands wound together.

“No, of course it’s not.” Deborah let out a truncated laugh that could have been a dry sob, and Martin lifted his head, a smile appearing on his lips as if the sound of her amusement was infectious; she could barely raise her voice beyond a breathy sigh as she said, “I…I think I’d be alright with that, if you wanted to ask me.”

“Yes?” Martin’s expression was so full of hope, and he leaned into her space, until their forehead could have touched if he moved much closer; it felt like balancing on a ledge, over which there was only absolutely wonderful things.

“Yes.” Deborah replied, and she couldn’t hold Martin’s gaze, in case the pricking at her eyes became something more; nevertheless, a grin crept its way across her lips, and she slipped her hands across the space between them to take Martin’s and curl her fingers around his, like an anchor.

“Oh, that uh, that wasn’t the proposal!” Martin amended sharply, his voice shrill and sudden, as if he had been electrocuted; he gripped her hands though, even as his chest heaved and he flushed charmingly, “I-I-I-I wanted to ask you if you were okay with that, and then I was going to go and do it properly, with a ring, and a proper location, and-”

“Martin, this is fine.” Deborah chuckled, shaking her head and grinning down at their joined hands; of _course_ he couldn’t just let things be, he had a plan, and he was sticking to it…she didn’t know what she would have done if he hadn’t been so strict…cried probably...laughter was better.

“No, it’s not-” Martin started, but he cut himself off as Deborah batted him with the back of her hand, and he caught sight, as if for the first time, of the unfaltering smile that stretched across her face.

“I don’t need a proper location, or a ring.” Deborah assured him, taking a deep breath and steadying herself, closing her eyes for just a moment, so that she could eradicate the park and the night sky, and just commit the red faced hope on Martin’s face; when she opened them again, he was still looking at her just as indulgently, “This is fine, I like this.”

“Yeah…yes, I, yes, alright…” Martin conceded, a wobbly smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and lighting up his face, as he took back Deborah’s hands and leaned into her space, still shaking, “Wow, okay, wow…so is this a proposal then? Are we getting engaged?”

“I don’t know?” Deborah laughed, shaking her head; it felt like being lost at sea, but fantastically so, with the one person that she couldn’t live without, however much he flailed and stammered, “It’s your show Martin.”

“Right…right…um…I’ve got this!” Martin declared, and with that he sat back and slid from the bench, stumbling as he tried to drop onto his knee, having to grasp at Deborah’s knees to keep himself upright; trembling and taking deep breaths, he ran his eyes over her face, then down to his hands, as which point he still, and then beamed, and began working his father’s signet ring from his right hand, “This is…this might work until I can get a proper one.”

“No, Martin, this is good.” Deborah interrupted him, reaching forwards and wrapping her hands around his, holding him until he stilled, and the fight left his expression; financial worries aside…Martin was almost surgically attached to that ring…if he was prepared to give it to _her_ for any length of time…that was more of a gesture than anything she had ever received, “This is…this is perfect, I like this. I love you.”

“Alright…” Martin nodded decidedly, and his jaw set; taking one last breath, Martin held the ring out to her, glanced at the ground as if it were doing him a personal injustice by seeping dampness into his trousers, and then lifted his chin to meet her eyes, “Deborah…will you marry me – if you want to – o-or, no, not or – will you marry me – there, that one, that was good.”

“That was good; very good-” Deborah replied warmly, unable to take her eyes from his; this was perfect, and she didn’t think that she had ever loved Martin more.

“No, wait!” Martin cut her off, pouting as if he had been denied the best part of this whole farce; he lowered his hands and rested them atop Deborah’s knees, “I have more – I-I want to say more.”

“Alright then.” Deborah agreed, nodding slowly and smirking as she leaned forwards, resting her weight on her elbows, propped atop her knees; that was more like what she was used to; it was a good projection of what her life would be like from now on, “I’m looking forward to this.”

Martin nodded hastily and released a shuddering breath, and with that he rose from the ground to perch on the edge of the bench beside her, taking Deborah’s hands in his; the sensation of the signet ring, a hard curve pressed between their palms, only added to the shivering down her windpipe.

“Yeah….I…I just wanted to say that, _I love you_.” Martin remarked, swallowing hard and blinking as if to try and bat away smoke; then, just as he was wont to once in a blue moon, Martin stilled, and looked into Deborah’s eyes, and she was fixed in place as he launched into one of those long winded, perfectly competent and confident speeches that occasionally nestled under the surface of his stumbling, “I really love you, a-and I, I don’t know much about marriage, because from what I’ve seen, i-it seems like there’s not much really there, to be honest – b-but that’s not what I want with you. I…I want everything with you, I-I-I want to do everything that life has to offer, b-but I want to be able to look around and know that you’re _right there_ …I just know that I want to marry you, a-and I don’t know how that will be different to how we are now, b-but I know that it _will_ be different, a-and I want that sort of different.”

At first Deborah couldn’t think of what to say; all that she could think about was how everything that wasn’t Martin and herself seemed to fall silent and fade into a hazy blur, and all that mattered was the heated raging in her chest, that trembled like a moth resting on the strings of a violin. She had been married before, but she had never loved them, never trusted _anyone_ , as much as she did Martin.

“Yes, yes I will.” Deborah uttered after moments of silence, her breath coming out far more unsteadily than she had anticipated; letting out another short laugh, she turned Martin’s hand over in hers, so that his ring was visible to the both of them, “Marry you, I mean…I will marry you.”

“Good.” Martin chuckled nervously, but he was smiling and, if Deborah wasn’t mistaken, crying just a little bit, as he lifted her hand in his shaking ones, and slipped the ring, at least three sizes too big, designed for a fully grown man, onto her finger; Deborah watched his face instead of their hands, and couldn’t help but smile as his eyes widened and he grimaced, nose scrunching “I mean, thank you – no, not thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Deborah sighed, curling her fingers around his before Martin could withdraw them; then, taking the chance while she still could, she tipped forwards, lifting her free hand to trace her fingers over his cheek, and pressed her lips to his, almost toppling into the kiss.

Martin didn’t let her pull away, but pushed back, his hand slipping to her hair, and Deborah didn’t have the energy or the desire to pull away. They might have stayed like that for hours, falling in and out of each other, unaware of what was going on around them…Deborah didn’t care…this was perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Getting to the airfield at all had been a struggle, and a hard fought one at that; Martin had always been insistent that they be on time, and always maintained that philosophy, but on Monday morning, it was Deborah that had had to drag him from bed and force herself not to let him drag her back. They had barely left the flat at all over the weekend, but that was acceptable, and more than alright; nothing in the world could dampen Deborah’s spirits, not now that she had gotten over the initial surprise and fully immersed herself in the beautiful, wonderful reality in which she and Martin were engaged.

They were getting married. Just like that, it was as if their lives had become cocooned in a cloud of pure light, a warm reminder during every moment of peace when they happened to be in separate rooms that for every pitfall in their lives, they had something wonderful that would _always_ be there.

So…bed, and romantic, if shoddy, dinners, and then more time in bed; Martin’s arms curled around Deborah’s waist as she made tea of remembered that she needed to wash the dishes, and Deborah reaching around Martin’s chest in bed, pressing kisses to his neck while he answered the phone and promptly dismissed whoever was calling him with a few sharp but bright words.

This time, it was going to be permanent, Deborah was determined; this time, it was going to be better. Martin wasn’t just a man that fit the bill; he was the love of her life, and she would willingly spend every day of her life with him, even if all they ever did was fight…they would do it together.

As they walked around the porta-cabin, arm in arm, side by side, Martin peeked in through the greasy window checking who was in; the only way that Deborah had managed to coax him from the flat, and into his uniform that morning was to remind him that they had to announce their engagement to their friends. To say that Martin was excited would have been an understatement; Deborah had never seen him so happy, or content, and so at ease with his position in the world. There had been no griping about how they would pay for their life together, or moaning that he wasn’t good enough…for once, Deborah was certain that Martin was as happy as she was.

“Oh, look!” Martin exclaimed as he peered through the window, leaning away from Deborah to stand on his toes; his cheerful smile grow just a tad brighter, as if the world were falling into place, “Herc’s here too – that’s great, we can tell everyone together.”

“Fantastic.” Deborah muttered, rolling her eyes and tugging Martin away from the window so that they could continue on their way to the door; even Herc’s presence couldn’t dampen her mood, and she supposed…he was part of the ‘family’ now, in a way, so she just had to suck up her disdain for him and allow Martin to have his happiness, “I’ll let you do the honours, darling.”

“Are you sure?” Martin asked, stumbling to a halt as they reached the door, his hand falling onto the handle, but no pushing; his cheeks were flushed in anticipation, and his free hand clenched and unclenched where it was curled around Deborah’s, but he blinked down at her as if she had offered him the holy grail and the position of Chief Pilot for every airline in Europe, “We could do it together, you know; that might be nice.”

“Hmmm, I’m sure it would be.” Deborah drawled, smirking at the confused furrowing of Martin’s brow; making the most of his bewilderment, she bridged the gap between them and pressed her lips to his, giving a quick kiss to placate him before standing back and lifting her hands to trace the v-shaped arrangement at the lapels of his uniform, smoothing the shoulder stripes and straightening his tie, “However, I think that there’s a point at which nice becomes horrifically soppy and cheesy. You have control, Captain; I’ll just stand there and look gorgeous.”

“Of course you will.” Martin hummed in response, his voice lowering as he responded eagerly, slipping his hands around hers to halt her fiddling and kiss her again, more vigorously, pressing their lips deliciously together; Deborah let out a laugh and pushed him lightly away, and Martin was still chuckling as she pushed the door open, forcing it past the catch and jamming with her shoulder, calling out to the rest of the crew already within, “Morning all!”

“Hi Skip!” Arthur chirped, waving from where he was perched on the edge of the sofa, presumably watching Carolyn and Herc as they conversed over the conjoined desks, Carolyn in Deborah’s seat, Herc in Arthur’s wheelie one; when she had pulled the door closed behind them, Deborah moved further into the room, slipping her arm through Martin’s where he had his thumb hooked into his pocket, “Hi, Deborah!”

“Oh, hello.” Herc spun his seat around so that his back was to Carolyn, and gave them both a winning smile; it might have been welcome had it not looked as if he were genuinely pleased and relieved to see them, which was completely inexcusable in Deborah’s mind, “It’s good to see you again.”

“You’re two hours late.” Carolyn snapped, cutting of the beginnings of Martin’s open mouthed response; the grim frown on her lips and the steely stubbornness in her eyes as she sat tautly behind Deborah’s desk made it clear that however Deborah and Martin were feeling, _she_ was in a foul mood, “Martin, I assumed that the whole point of you living together was for you to get Deborah here on time.”

“Sorry, Carolyn, I, uh…” Martin’s joy must have been too thick a veil to pierce through, as he blushed and stammered, and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, shuffling his feet and turning into Deborah’s side, knocking their elbows together and ducking his head down to meet her gaze, “w-we um, we got a bit distracted.”

“Yes, we’re dreadfully sorry.” Deborah interjected, unable to keep the warmth of a smile from washing over her lips and filling her chest with affection; she gave Martin’s hand a squeeze, noting as she had over the past two days how wonderful simple things were, like the sensation of his hand, bony but strong, and forced herself to tear her eyes from his, “After all, the three of you do seem _very_ busy discussing what I assume must be trade secrets, or today’s flight plan.”

“Sadly no.” Carolyn retorted curtly, laying her hands flat upon the top of the desk and sparing Deborah a cursory glare that had been chipped at over the years until it was personally tailored; it occurred to Deborah that perhaps now wasn’t the best time to be announcing their engagement, “That happens to be your job.”

“But they are discussing leaving the three of us in charge again.” Arthur piped up, earning himself an exasperated groan from his mother; he seemed to be in a good mood, as always, and thrilled by the idea, as he helpfully addressed Deborah and Martin, “That way Mum and Herc can go on another romantic holiday.”

“We’re not discussing that.” Carolyn snapped, glaring between Arthur and Deborah as if they were somehow responsible for Herc’s insistence upon actually spending time with her; now definitely wasn’t the time to be announcing anything, “And it wouldn’t be a romantic holiday-”

“It _would_ be a romantic holiday, because these next few weeks will be the first break I’ve had from Swiss Air in over a year.” Herc argued, swinging his chair back around so that Carolyn would have no choice but to face his decidedness; nevertheless, he didn’t refrain from dragging them into the debate, “I’ve been trying to tell Carolyn that all three of you are perfectly competent adults, and that she can heartlessly abandon you for a week without worrying.”

“How _lovely_.” Deborah remarked, reluctantly agreeing with Herc despite her better judgement; it was supposed to be a good day, and Martin’s hand was clenching irritably against hers as his smile began to fade into a petulant frown as he huffed at being ignored, so she needed to restore the peace, “Of course, Martin and I would be happy to run MJN while you’re gone; Arthur knows his way around the custodial side of things, so there’s really no reason for you to put off such a wonderful and heartfelt week just for our sake.”

“That’s what _I_ said.” Arthur exclaimed, throwing his hand out towards Deborah as if to impress upon Carolyn the strength of his argument purely by having someone else agree with him, “I said, ‘Deborah knows how to deal with the passengers, and Skip knows how to do all the things on the computer, and I know how to clean and book the catering and hotels’-”

“The last time I left you alone you wasted over a thousand litres of fuel flying around and around in circles.” Carolyn sighed and shook her head, placing the tips of her fingers over her eyes; anyone would think that spending time with her ‘man-that-she-knew’ was a burden, and not the opportunity that she could be seen visibly pining for when he wasn’t around, “It’s not big things I’m worried about; it’s little stupid ones that cost me thousands of pounds.”

“We’ve learnt our lessons.” Deborah assured her, giving Martin’s arm a shake to prompt him into doing the same; she doubted that Carolyn was truly worried about _them_ , and even though she was detracting from their happy announcement…Deborah did care enough to want her to be happy herself.

“I-I-I won’t do that again, I promise.” Martin added hastily, biting down on his bottom lip as he pouted at the memory and adjusted the angle of his hat atop his head; he might have even bristled at the reminder of one of his many flounders as Captain, “I make sure to pay attention when I’m talking to the grounds crew now.”

“Most of the time.” Deborah murmured into his shoulder, as she leaned into his side and embraced the flutter of affection that rippled through her lungs; maybe it would cheer him up if he were teased just a tad.

“ _All_ of the time!” Martin gave an indignant squawk, flushed a darker shade of scarlet as he nudged Deborah away from his shoulder, only to groan and give her a tight-lipped smile when he saw the mirth in her eyes as she smirked up at him; even if it hadn’t cheered _him_ up, Deborah rather liked the way he flapped at the implication.

“As charming a debate as this is, it isn’t what I wanted to discuss.” Herc declared, raising his hands into the air and holding his expression as calm and measured as was possible as he looked between them; his will was indomitable as always, and he wouldn’t just let the matter lie, “Carolyn, you’ve heard it from all three of them now-”

“This discussion is over-” Carolyn snapped, and with that she reached across the desk to take a folder from the top of Martin’s organised pile, holding it up to examine; Deborah didn’t know what it was, but she was certain that it was nothing that would ever interest Carolyn, nor any human being other than Martin, who made a dejected little noise and lurched forwards as if to protect his work.

“No it’s not.” Herc replied, just as stubbornly; just like that, it was one of those conversations that Deborah didn’t want to listen in to, and she began to feel a bit redundant, standing in the middle of the room holding onto Martin imperceptibly more tightly than she had meant to.

“Then you will have to follow me onto GERTI, because we are flying to Montreal in half an hour.” Carolyn informed him, dropping Martin’s folder unceremoniously onto the desk and tenting her hands, as if this were an ultimatum that might actually work; then, wiping the self-satisfied smirk from her face, she turned her glare back onto Deborah and Martin, and made wafting motions in their direction, “Pilots, flight-plan filed and plane started – go!”

Deborah sighed and squeezed Martin’s hand, rubbing her other hand up and down his arm; there would be no happy announcement for now, but that she could accept that, as disheartening as it was. They had time…all the time in the world to tell everyone…

“Alright then, I _will_ follow you onto GERTI, because I am determined to find out why you’re being so stubborn.” Herc replied, shifting in his chair as if he were about to surge to his feet; Deborah really hoped that he was bluffing, as a flight with Herc on it was never enjoyable, “It’s been months since I last saw you, but I seem to be the only one that’s pleased about that.”

“It’s not that I’m not pleased-” Carolyn began to insist, but she wasn’t allowed to finish; it seemed that Deborah wasn’t the only one to realise that this was the sort of debate that didn’t have a natural end.

“Um, actually, Deborah and I-” Martin interrupted her, stepping forwards, puffing his chest out as if he were seizing his Captainly right to speech and attention; he tugged on Deborah’s hand, in an attempt to drag her into the spotlight with him, but she stayed but, sensing the apathy bubbling beneath Carolyn’s surface.

“I thought I just told you to go!” Carolyn didn’t shout, but she might as well have done for all that her irritation shone through, “Or did that particular demand slip into oblivion?”

“You did, b-but we…” Martin insisted, as always, scowling and shaking his head, clicking his heels together as he stood as tall as he could and glanced back as Deborah as if seeking her help; he had been so excited to be telling them about their engagement, she could only frown sympathetically and pull on his hand.

“It’s alright, Martin, it can wait.” Deborah promised, rising onto her toes so that she could murmur with her lips next to his ear; then she leant back and raised her voice, taking a step back to lead him towards the door, “Carolyn, feel free to continue arguing in our absence.”

“It’s not alright!” Martin insisted, his eyebrows knitting as he blinked down at her; of course the stubborn man wouldn’t just let it go, not once he had made the plan in his head and had the opportunity waved right in front of his nose. He was like a terrier.

“It’s fine, darling.” Deborah told him, a little louder and more sternly this time, giving his arm a sharp pull to impress upon him the pointlessness of remaining in the middle of Carolyn and Herc’s argument; she glanced towards the sofa and jerked her head towards the door, “Come on, Arthur; you can help me do the walk around.”

“Brilliant.” Arthur replied, and barely a fraction of a second passed before he had bounded from the sofa to stand at Deborah’s other side; if anything, he sounded relieved at the chance to leave the porta-cabin, the novelty of being allowed to run the company fading beside his mother’s distemper.

“Oh, fine!” Martin hissed through gritted teeth, scowling petulantly; he tore his hand from Deborah’s and marched towards his desk, ignoring the stern glare that Carolyn fixed upon him as he hoisted his folders into his arms, snatching up a stack of pens from his pot, “I’ll do the bloody flight-plan, and we’ll just get on with our jobs, and pretend that we didn’t want to talk to everyone, but that’s _fine…”_

“You’re dismissed!” Carolyn scolded him, waving him away from the desk while Herc leaned out of his way, allowing Martin better access to his stationary, most of which Deborah was sure that he didn’t actually need for the time being.

“Come on, darling.” Deborah urged him, sighing with exasperation, to accompany her as she made her way back to the door and pulled it open, letting in the faint breeze that curled around her ankles; she knew that he was upset, after all he had been looking forward to sharing their happiness with everyone, but life was full of disappointments, and this was only a small one.

“Yes, _dear!”_ Martin almost hissed, crooking his arms around his folders and turning to storm back to her side; he gave his cargo a clumsy shake as he marched past her and out into the cold air, muttering furiously to himself the whole while, “Coming…coming – see, all the paperwork, ready to fill out and deliver to Karl.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, the one that was just as disappointed as Martin was at the dampening of what had previously been a cloud of pure joy, misting the corners of her eyes and lifting her spirits into the sky itself, Deborah let Arthur leave the porta-cabin before her, stole one last glance at Carolyn, who was already sniping at Herc, and then closed the door behind her.

Martin had wandered a few feet away, but he must have remembered that he was meant to be sharing this time with his new fiancé, because he was leaning against the side of the porta-cabin, looking sheepish with his lips pursed, waiting with Arthur at his side for Deborah to join them.

“So what did you want to talk to all of us about?” Arthur asked, once Deborah had smiled and given Martin’s shoulder a squeeze and a kiss, and both men had fallen into step either side of her; he hooked his thumbs into his pockets and lumbered in an almost crab-like fashion so that he could see both of their faces, blinking curiously between them.

“Nothing…it doesn’t matter now.” Martin grumbled, hunching over somewhat as he walked in an attempt to keep a hold on the folders that he had grabbed in his fit of pique; he met Deborah’s gaze, and frowned dejectedly, “We’ll sort that out later.”

“Oh, okay.” Arthur nodded in acceptance, but as always, he couldn’t let the matter go once his suspicions had taken root; how else could he be helpful, if not by following every trail that he could, “It’s just that when you came in, you both looked really happy. But now, you’re…well, you’re quite grumpy, so I thought that it might have been important, and that you’re upset you didn’t get to tell us.”

“That’d very astute of you.” Deborah remarked as brightly as she could, plastering on a smile just for him; at least they had Arthur’s attention, even if Carolyn couldn’t take ten minutes out of her day to listen to what they had to say.

“I _am_ very astute.” Arthur replied, grinning to himself and tucking his hands together behind his back, puffing out, so obviously pleased with himself; it was enough to make Deborah’s smile settled a tad more comfortably on her lips, and alleviate the unpleasant prickling at her throat.

“Is that so?” Deborah inquired playfully, scoffing when Arthur nodded dutifully, tipping his nose into the air; then, like being struck with a particularly intriguing bolt of lightning, one that filled her lungs with the same devious warmth that came at the heels of a juicy scheme, an idea pushed its way to the forefront of her mind, and Deborah spared no time in gently prodding an elbow into Martin’s side, “Martin…now that I think about it, if anyone deserves to be the first to know…don’t you think it would be Arthur?”

“First to know what?” Arthur asked, stumbling to a halt under GERTI’s wing moments after Martin did the same, turning to Deborah with wide eyes; if he had been a dog, it would have been possible to see his ears pricking with fascination.

“I suppose…” Martin conceded, his brow furrowing as his eyes narrowed, and he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth; he gazed searchingly into Deborah’s eyes, and it was possible to see the cogs turning, and a slither of his hope from before flickering back into life in his countenance, “We do get on better with him than we do with Carolyn or Herc.”

“That would be because Arthur is our closest friend.” Deborah agreed, smirking as the flush eased from Martin’s cheeks, and was replaced by a charming pink blush, as his expression lightened, and the tension in his shoulders eased; perhaps they would get to announce their good news…to someone who would actually appreciate it, and demonstrate the joy that they were meant to.

“I am?” Arthur exclaimed from over Deborah’s shoulder; in an ideal world, his voice would have been glowing with the light of a thousand suns, and shimmering bright enough that it illuminated the individual specks of dust that crossed its path, “Aw, that’s brilliant; you’re my closest friends too.”

“See?” Deborah gestured towards Arthur, seizing upon the rush of warmth to her chest and channelling it into her expression, as she beamed at Martin; it hadn’t occurred to her before that she might have been as excited as he was to have other people know about their engagement, just to make it more real, to prove to the world that they worked, “Tell you what, Martin; I’ve got an idea of how we can break the news to everyone else, but you can do your little presentation or whatever it was you’d thought up now, for Arthur.”

“Alright…” Martin breathed, then choked, clearing his throat, his eyes darting manically over Deborah’s face; he seemed to lean in towards her, so she raised her hands to cover his where they still grasped his folders, and he snapped out of it, making a shrill noise in the pit of his throat as he looked over her shoulder to address Arthur, “Arthur, Deborah and I have something important to tell you…something really, really amazing actually, I-I-I, w-we um…oh god…I-I-I…”

“Are you alright Skip?” Arthur inquired; Deborah turned just in time to see his nose scrunch in concern, and to feel Martin crouching down to drop his folders on the ground, knocking her back before his hands found purchase on her shoulders, “It’s just, you look really happy, but you sound like someone’s died.”

“Would you like me to take over?” Deborah murmured into Martin’s hand, as she tipped her head to the side to press her lips to the back of his knuckles, reaching up to slide her palm over the other; again, like the to and fro of the tide, the giddy thrill that had been racing through her veins over the weekend, and expelled all dreary thoughts, was back tenfold.

“No, I can do this - I just need to not cry with happiness.” Martin stammered, his voice turning wet and clammy, while his hands shook on Deborah’s shoulders, which only tugged at the strings in her heart and made her want to drop her eyes and beam; he sucked it up though, puffing out his chest and pulling Deborah imperceptibly closer, “Yesterday, Arthur, I-I-I asked Deborah, i-i-if she wanted to, t-to marry me-”

“That’s brilliant!” Arthur’s face split into the widest grin that Deborah had ever seen, the visual epitome of joy that she felt incapable of displaying herself, even as a silent laugh escaped her lips, and she gripped Martin’s arms as she felt them drop and circle her waist; he lurched forwards to wrap his arms around both of them at the same time, but stumbled backwards, almost vibrating with cheer when he realised that that wasn’t working.

“The next bit’s even more brilliant.” Deborah informed him; it would have been nice to have everyone gathered together, but she had to admit, as she felt Martin’s cheek against her own, that this, with just Arthur there to be genuinely pleased for them, was perfect. And now it was real…it was actually happening.

“Oh!” Arthur’s eyes widened even further, and his hands flew up to cover his mouth, then hang in the air as he bore down on Deborah, “Did you…did you say yes? You had to say yes.”

“I said yes.” Deborah answered as calmly as she could, maintaining her composure even as her fingers dug into the backs of Martin’s wrists; it wouldn’t do to dissolve into the wonderful dizziness of happiness that she had been swept away by over the weekend, not in public.

“She said yes!” Martin squeaked, a shrill sound that managed to encompass every word that he had whispered to her over the past two days, every murmur in her ear, against her skin, every tear filled exclamation of his happiness, every moment that he had spent holding her close as he was doing now, embracing her so that the warmth of his shuddering chest melded with the curve of her back, every single slip and soft press of lips and grasping gasping connection…the steadfast, confident, unfaltering certainty of Martin’s declaration made Deborah fall in love all over again, like toppling into a well cushioned with the sweetest water in the world, “We’re getting married! Can you-I-I-I can barely even believe it.”

“Aw, wow!” Arthur clapped his hands together and rocked on his heels, but Deborah barely heard him, or saw him, over the gentle yet suffocating rush of affection that blew all but _Martin_ from her mind, making her wish that she could melt back into him, “That’s brilliant! This is the most brilliant thing that’s ever happened at MJN, _ever!”_

“For once Arthur, I have to agree with you.” Deborah sighed contentedly, letting Martin brush her hair back over her shoulders so that he could lean unimpeded against her; Arthur wasn’t always wrong, and when he was right…he hit the mark dead centre.

“So you’re going to be married?” Arthur continued to interrogate them, and for once, Deborah had no problem at all listening to his spouting of words, as every one glistened, “Like a proper married couple, with a wedding, and rings, and living together, and all of that?”

“Yes!” Martin replied proudly, in the same tone of voice that he used when someone recognised that he was in fact the captain of the aircraft, and not the cabin boy; incidentally, that hadn’t happened for quite a while, something that Deborah assumed was due to a recent burst in confidence and self-assurance.

“That’s brilliant!” Arthur seemed incapable of saying much else, tottering as he was on the brink of throwing his arms around the two of them and tackling them to the ground; this was what they had wanted…someone to be as happy as they were, to make it clear that getting married was the right thing to be doing.

“Yes, yes it is!” Martin agreed, nodding jerkily, his arms winding and flexing around her waist; he stammered a bit, but he managed to still, somehow, and let Deborah lean and then step from his grasp, so that he could look her in the eyes, “How…you know what, Debs? I actually feel like I’d have no problem telling everyone else now.”

“The lowest hurdle’s always the hardest with you, isn’t it?” Deborah purred, unable to put any heat behind it; only the indomitable tide of fondness could penetrate her giddy mood, allowing her to raise her hand to stroke her fingers against Martin’s cheek, smirking as she remarked, “Besides, I’ve come up with a _fun_ way to tell everyone, seeing as they have better things to be doing.”

oOoOoOo

Herc and Carolyn were miraculously _still_ bickering in the Cabin, twenty minutes after boarding the plane; they couldn’t hear them anymore, but Deborah could imagine that if they were in the flight-deck, they would drown out the humming and whirring (and today clicking) of the engines and control panel as GERTI warmed up for flight.

That didn’t matter though; she was having fun. Martin was grinning, smirking that wicked and handsome curl of his lips that made his cheeks light up and his eyes glint deliciously, just as he always did when he gave in and made himself implicit in her plans, as he flicked the last few switches and stole adoring glances at Deborah from across the gap between them.

Arthur was perched on the edge of the jump-seat, and although Deborah wasn’t sure that he knew what they were up to, he looked suitably intrigued, winding his hands together and looking between the two of them. If he had been oddly quiet since they had entered the plane, then he was probably just giving them the peace that they needed.

Shooting Martin one last smirk that lingered on her lips, Deborah reached across to grasp his hand where it curled around the yoke, and then released him, and leant forwards to flick on the intercom; the familiar crackle filled the air, and Arthur seemed to inhale sharply and hold his breath while Martin sniggered and covered his mouth with his fist.

“Hello, and welcome to this cargo flight from Fitton to Montreal.” Deborah drawled into the intercom; she imagined Carolyn looking up at the ceiling and rolling her eyes, which only spurred her on, “I’m sure that as this is a _cargo_ flight, and not a _passenger_ flight, that there’s no need for flight times or altitudes or speeds, or anything like that, so I’m going to hand you over to the Captain now for the introductions.”

“This is your Captain speaking; Captain Martin Crieff.” Martin stepped in seamlessly, slipping his hand onto the intercom just as she moved hers away; he used the playful tone of voice that usually came after hours of games, and couldn’t seem to keep the smile from his face, as he gasped in deep and shuddering breaths, “Piloting the plane with me today is First Officer Deborah Richardson…who-has-kindly-agreed-to-be-my-wife. That’s all from me; enjoy the flight.”

The intercom clicked off, and Martin fell back into his seat just as Deborah did the same; one look was all that it took for her to descend into giggles, as Martin’s low and shivering chuckles rolled from his chest. She dropped her head down, grazing her eyes over her knees, before flopping back against her seat, arms hanging lazily over the edge as she blinked slowly across at Martin, who was doing the same, meeting her gaze with such a lingered, clinging heat that she couldn’t tear her eyes from his.

“That was brilliant!” Arthur informed them; Deborah glanced over her shoulder, shifting so that she could see his face, as it occurred to her that for someone who was normally very talkative, ‘brilliant’ was one of the few things that Arthur had said since they had been outside, “Oh, I can hear them coming now.”

“Well done Martin.” Deborah attested, casting away any thoughts on the matter for the sake of smiling at her husband to be, and teasing him; the natural order of things was the best place to be, “Very smooth.”

“I don’t care.” Martin remarked, shaking his head and pursing his lips; his voice was lower than was probably acceptable in a work environment, but there was no time to think about that, as he leant across the seats and tipped his chin down, drawing Deborah into a light kiss, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Deborah replied warmly, taking the lapel of his jacket between her fingers and pulling him back for another kiss; this was the sort of lovely thing that she had to look forwards to, the press of his chapped lips against hers every day for the rest of her life, and yet she still couldn’t get over the novelty of it.

They were forced to break apart when the flight-deck door clanged open; they turned their heads, to see Carolyn standing in the doorway with Herc at her shoulder, neither of them moving into the flight-deck completely. Carolyn’s eyes were narrowed, and she peered between the two of them, over the top of the jump-seat.

“What was that?” Carolyn demanded wanly, pointing into the air as if she were gesturing to some unknown and disembodied voice in the sky; for once, she sounded as if she had been left speechless.

“Oh, did you not hear it?” Deborah inquired sweetly, batting her eyelashes and making a show of checking the intercom switch and waggling it to see if it was still functional; Martin batter her hand away from it, but she carried on nonetheless, “I thought that the intercom was the only part of GERTI never to break.”

“We heard it perfectly.” Herc replied, still attempting to peer over Carolyn’s shoulder; if anything, he actually sounded surprised, which was a victory to be remembered with pride, “Is it true?”

“Yes!” Martin squealed with pride, his cheeks a charming shade of red beneath his freckles as he grinned and swivelled in his seat, keeping one hand hovering over the controls; he was fit to burst with excitement, and Deborah feared that he might actually start tearing up again, “We’re engaged, and we’re getting married, and, a-a-a-and-”

“We’re getting married.” Deborah cut in smoothly, speaking as cool and calmly as was possible given the way that Martin was looking at her as if she had bestowed upon him the greatest gift known to mankind; she lowered her gaze so as not to receive the full blast of light that he was radiating.

“Yes, that’s, that’s what I was- what I meant.” Martin amended his previous stammering, and grimaced apologetically over his shoulder; he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, knocking his hat out of alignment, though he didn’t appear to notice, “We’re getting married.”

“Well, congratulations.” Herc exulted, still doing his best to be seen at all; there wasn’t a shred of smarm in his tone at all, “I’m sure that you’ll be very happy together.”

“Thank you, Herc.” Deborah replied, making an effort not to cringe at the idea of being polite to him, against all odds; all she had wanted, after all, was for a little congratulations and for someone to be pleased for them, “You’re being awfully quiet Carolyn; did we push you into some sort of stroke?”

“You wish.” Carolyn scoffed, and just like that she was back to her old self, flattening her jacket and lightly touching her hair; she stepped inside the flight-deck just far enough that Herc could move to her side and actually see the happy couple, “So you’re…? Well, I suppose I’m…pleased for you. Well done.”

“Well done?” Martin repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion; he looked to Herc, but was wisely provided no answer to his silent question.

“Thank you.” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes and settling back in her seat, so that she could rest her cheek on the padding and watch the rest of the crew with minimal effort; there would be no time to simply enjoy their company when they were in flight…even joy couldn’t distract Martin from the importance of professional focus.

“Yes, um, thank…you, what…what she said.” Martin stuttered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed awkwardly, eyes darting over everything from his knees to the window; he held his head a little higher though, as if he were balancing a lemon on the tip of his nose, “I guess it is well done, isn’t it?”

“So have you made any plans yet?” Herc asked, when it seemed that Carolyn wasn’t saying anything more, instead staring between them as if they were mad, and Arthur remained oddly silent; his steadfast continuation of ‘proper’ responses and behaviour, though completely welcome, forced Deborah to ignore the itching desire to dislike him for it, as irrational dislike as it may have been. Nobody was supposed to be that relentlessly polite.

“Well, there _are_ a few things that we talked over; aren’t there, Martin?” Deborah hinted, stealing a glance at Arthur from the corner of her eye, as he was still watching, hands clasped together, in silence; this would cheer him up…and possibly lift Martin past the buoyed heights of happiness into the stratosphere of irrevocable joy.

“Oh, yes; I almost forgot.” Martin shook his head as if he were inwardly scolding himself, and turned to lean over the back of his seat, hooking his arm around and over so that he could address the other man directly; his attempt at hiding the promise in his voice was redundant, but Arthur was as oblivious as always, “Arthur?”

“Yeah, Skip?” Arthur chirped, blinking wide-eyed up at him as if he had been off in a world of his own; Deborah didn’t want to imagine what kind of odd world that might have been, and was content to watch, a smile creeping onto her lips, as her two favourite men jittered with excitement.

“Do you…” Martin trailed off, and took a deep breath, stealing a glance at Deborah as if steeling himself and drawing some sort of confidence from the smile on her face; then he bit down on his bottom lip, raised his hand to press down on his hat, and spoke as if he were delivering the speech for a Nobel peace prize, “I was just wondering, if you, i-if you wanted to be my best man?”

“Do I!?!” Arthur exclaimed, and with that he surged to his feet, clapping his hands together; Deborah thought that he was going to throw his arms around Martin, but he held himself back, and simply beamed at him, and at Deborah, rocking on his heels as if he couldn’t contain his excitement, “Of course I’ll be your best man!”

“You realise that it’s a lot of responsibility?” Martin clarified far more seriously, settling back down into his seat; Deborah knew that Martin had very strict plans in his head as to how their wedding was going to go, so much so that she might as well sit back with her feet up.

“Do _you_ realise _how much_ responsibility it is?” Carolyn interrupted the no doubt vehement answer that Arthur opened his mouth to provide, and fixed Martin with an arched eyebrow and a demonstrative glint in her eyes. Martin opened and closed his mouth a few times, which only seemed to prove the point that she was so unsubtly making.

“Of course he does.” Deborah informed her curtly, although she was sure that this unwarranted concern was only Carolyn’s obscure way of saying that she hoped everything went well; there was no need, she had faith in Arthur, even if no one else did, “And we both know that Arthur is capable of fulfilling the role to his very best capabilities.”

“Aw, thanks Deborah.” Arthur reached across to give her shoulder a squeeze, and he might have actually choked up in the fraction of a second that it took for determination to pinch his features, “I won’t disappoint you; either of you.”

“Right, well…” Martin coughed, and then cleared his throat, and turned his back on the rest of the crew so that he was facing forwards, tugging on the rim of his hat; it was odd, but somehow seeing Martin become so emotional drained any of the same overwhelming fluster from Deborah’s chest, and allowed her to sigh affectionately and simply enjoy the wondrous pleasure of _existing_ in a world where there was a reason to be so happy, “We’re taking off now, so you all need to get out of my flight-deck and sit down.”

“ _Your_ flight-deck?” Carolyn retorted, but she wasn’t allowed to linger as Herc nodded to Arthur, and between them, they began to usher her away from the flight-deck; she went with a huff, storming ahead of them, Arthur in her wake, neither of them offering a goodbye.

“We’ll leave you alone.” Herc informed the two of them as he remained in the doorway, hands on the frame, for a moment longer; somehow, he managed to make it sound as if it were a great service, until he reasserted some sense of sincerity, and deliberately met Deborah’s gaze, “Congratulations; I really am, _very_ happy for you.”

There was no time to reply, or even really process the uncomfortable blend of gratitude and disdain that touched the pit of Deborah’s throat, as the flight-deck door clanged shut and she was left alone with Martin; perfect, of course, that they should be given their space to gaze lovingly at one another…or to run through her mind the various strings that should hopefully knit into one item in her mind to help her navigate the cacophony of feelings that their friends’ reactions had instilled.

It didn’t matter what anyone though…but Deborah couldn’t help herself from pushing her hand through her hair and exhaling slowly, relieved that everything was okay, and yet…now that it wasn’t just a secret, now that she and Martin were engaged before the world and not just inside the sanctity of their home…it was like the glittering fog through which she had been perceiving the world had sharpened into pointed edges, grounding her…but not in an unpleasant way.

It was only after a few minutes, after which Deborah realised that Martin hadn’t said a word, that she turned her head and found that his eyes were fixed on her face, and that he was gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip, while his fingers rapped on the arm of his seat; it was comforting to know that she wasn’t the only one experiencing the stuttering reality before them, and Martin must have felt it too, as a manic smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“So that’s it…” Martin gasped, his chest heaving as he visibly tried to maintain some sense of Captain-worthy composure; it was beautiful, knowing that she had played a part in making that expression light up his face, giving him that jittering fidgeting that only came with complete and utter exultation, “People know…it’s official.”

“Could you possibly sound happier about that?” Deborah teased, curling her hand through the air and brushing the back of her fingers against his cheek, lightly tapping his smile; Martin leaned away, but chuckled, flying higher than he had ever done on GERTI.

“Maybe, but I don’t think I’ll be fit to fly if I get much happier.” Martin almost chirped, rolling his shoulders back and taking Deborah’s hand before she could retract it, placing a clumsy kiss on the back of her knuckles; he snorted as she tugged her hand away, and ignored her for the sake of reaching out to press down the sat-com, “Tower, this is Golf Tango India, requesting permission to take off.”

“ _Sure, Martin, whatever you like.”_ Karl’s voice filtered through the sat-com and rattled around the cluttered shell of the flight-deck; he sounded bored, as always, _“It’s not like I have anyone else to talk to; you two go ahead and leave me.”_

“That’s not really standard phrasing now, is it?” Martin sighed, rolling his eyes at Deborah as if she would share in his despair; she just shrugged her shoulders, smirking at how easily he was distracted. Oh yes, years of this…she didn’t think she had looked forwards to anything quite this much.

“ _Of course not.”_ Karl groaned, reverting back to a state of professionalism and lazily dismissing them; it occurred to Deborah that it would be a shame not to let _everyone_ know their good news, just to see Martin smile some more, and to feel the charming warmth that it sent shivering through her lungs, _“Golf Tango India, feel free to make your way to the run way.”_

“Although, before we go,” Deborah interjected before Martin could respond as was protocol; she leant across the control panel, batting Martin’s hand out of the way so that she could press down the speaker’s button, “the Captain would like to break all of his phraseology rules and give you a little piece of good news to get you through the day.”

“Oh, yes!” Martin exclaimed, flapping excitedly and leaning forwards as if to speak directly into the control panel; apparently his stammering and nerves had faded now that he had received the approval of not only Arthur, but Carolyn and Herc as well, “Deborah and I are getting married!”

“ _Really?”_ Karl’s reaction was sudden and barked out as if he were trying to stop himself from laughing hysterically; Martin grinned proudly, but Deborah couldn’t help but purse her lips and sit back, narrowing her eyes at the flashing light that she had come to associate with their ATC man, _“God, well done mate! How’d you manage that?”_

“What are you implying?” Deborah inquired, folding her arms over her chest; it wasn’t _that_ unbelievable, not considering how long she and Martin had been a couple. She didn’t know whether or not she should have been insulted by the hilarity in Karl’s tone.

“ _Nothing at all Deborah, nothing at all.”_ Karl laughed properly this time, making no effort to hide it; perhaps revealing their engagement hadn’t been such a good idea after all, _“God blimey though – well done Martin! The lads are going to have a whale of a time with that - I never knew you had it in you.”_

oOoOoOo

Early the next morning, fresh back from Montreal, Deborah found herself curled with her knees up to her chest on one end of the sofa while Arthur slouched on the other end, her computer on his lap. Martin was somewhere on the airfield, though she couldn’t imagine where; the last time she had seen him, he had been flocked by the friendlier members of the grounds crew, all of which clapped Deborah on the back before surrounding Martin much like tourists would a UFO, as if trying to work out what was going on.

So, as she had nothing else to do, and because a whole weekend in bed didn’t seem quite enough in terms of an engagement present, Deborah had dug out her log-book from where she had last hidden it, and began filling it out from where the first blank appeared around five months beforehand. Arthur was still being unusually quiet, so it was actually rather peaceful, listening to the unsteady tapping of his fingers on the keys.

Or, at least Deborah _had_ been doing her log-book; then she had got distracted by a fleeting fancy, and now she was flicking her wrist and testing the new rhythms, repeating the same motions over and over again. She was so engrossed in the motion that she only realised that Carolyn had swept into the room when she heard the door cracking shut, catching on the bent latch.

“What are you two doing in here?” Carolyn asked, only slightly sounding as if she actually cared; she wandered over to the sofa, her arms folded loosely at her front, so that she could peer over both of their laps so that she could spy on what they were doing, “And why isn’t Martin here? I was under the impression that he lived here.”

“Martin’s talking to Dirk and George.” Deborah replied distractedly, dropping her eyes back to the previously blank pages at the back of her log-book and sweeping readjusting her hold on her pen, tugging her knee up more securely so that she could use it as a support, “Apparently he’s now part of the ‘boys group’, and if there’s one thing Martin likes: it’s positive attention.”

“I give it two days before he starts hiding in here again.” Carolyn scoffed, as she continued to loom over the two of them, pretending not to be nosy when in fact that was all that she was; she was easy to ignore.

“So are you going on holiday with Herc or not?” Deborah asked, taking only a fraction of a second to smile wanly at the dig at Martin, before changing the subject abruptly; sadly, she had to admit that she hoped that Carolyn went with Herc, if only because an unhappy Carolyn meant a dreary MJN for everyone.

“I am accompanying him on a trip.” Carolyn admitted tartly; she hooked her hands together behind her back and feigned nonchalance, “It only makes sense; if I’m going to spend time with him, then better to do so without the three of you nagging me as well.”

“We’ll be good while you’re gone.” Deborah assured her, glancing up fleetingly so that she could offer an encouraging grimace before returning to her task; Martin would try to keep them in line, so Deborah would make sure to behave within reason, “I promise.”

“Hmmm.” Carolyn hummed, obviously unconvinced; she continued to hover though, as if she couldn’t quite decide what to do with herself, and settled for narrowing her eyes at Arthur, who had somehow managed to stay quiet and on task throughout the entirety of their conversation, “What are you doing with Deborah’s laptop?”

“I’m googling how to be a best man.” Arthur answered, looking up from the computer and smiling, though it seemed strained and thin lipped, as if he needed to convince himself that he was having fun, “I know it’s early, but I need to know how to do it properly, before I mess anything up.”

“You won’t mess anything up.” Deborah retorted, lowering her log-book down so that it lay open on her knees, all the better for addressing Arthur properly; she ran her eyes over his face, and held his gaze, oddly uncomfortable with something in his demeanour that was so imperceptible that she couldn’t even put her finger on it, “Everything’s going to be fine…nothing’s going to be strict; we’re just going to enjoy it, whatever happens.”

“Each to their own; I suppose.” Carolyn sniffed flippantly, shaking her head and allowing Arthur the moment of distraction that he needed to drop his gaze and restart his clattering clicking on his end of the sofa; while Deborah watched him, brow knitting in confusion, Carolyn peered at the book in her lap, “What are you…Deborah…have you become some sort of teenage girl?”

“No!” Deborah retorted defensively, hastily pulling her log-book against her chest; she pursed her lips and sighed, letting her eyes fall closed as she realised that there was no chance that Carolyn hadn’t seen the page filled with her name…or what her name would be, “I’m…I was doing my log book, and then I realised that I’m going to have to change my signature…so I’m practicing.”

“You’re not taking his name?” Carolyn demanded, sounding truly aghast; her hand hovered over her chest, and her eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open as if she were horrified by the very idea. If she hadn’t been so insulted by the implication that she didn’t quite understand, Deborah might have found the sight amusing.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Deborah inquired curtly, tucking her log-book just that little bit closer to her chest, as if to defend Martin’s honour by protecting her over-eager signatures; she didn’t hear it quite so often in recent years, but even now, the sound of anyone but her making fun of Martin, as if he wasn’t good enough, as if he didn’t deserve Deborah’s love, and most definitely deserved that ‘well done’ that everyone was bestowing upon him…it hurt.

Maybe this was the epitome of true love? Perhaps…but whatever it was, Deborah couldn’t help but swallow the pang of sour distaste that nestled in her throat whenever anyone insulted him…Martin wasn’t perfect, but damn it, he was _hers_.

“You’re not seriously telling me you want to be Deborah _Crieff_?” Carolyn scoffed, reaching down as if to take the log-book from Deborah’s hands, to see those very words scribbled elegantly over and over again; it was held away from her, but as she stood back, she was smirking, and some of her normal shark-like essence had returned.

That didn’t matter though. Deborah must have reinvented herself at least three times, but this, with Martin, wasn’t a reinvention, it was a reversion to _herself_ without any acting, so she was willing to open up a whole new chapter, even if leaving her messes behind meant abandoning the one thing that she had clung to for years, a point of pride…no longer… Just being Deborah Richardson wasn’t enough anymore; it no longer won any respect, and if she was honest…Deborah was too tired to care. It was time to retire and be happy and just enjoy being someone that Martin Crieff had fallen in love with, made the most important thing in his life, more important than flying, flaws and all.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Deborah spoke far more proudly than she felt, more of a mess of indignant insult; she folded her legs underneath herself and quirked her eyebrows, “You can’t talk; you smooshed yours and Gordon’s names together like some sort of grim fruit salad.”

“That is irrelevant.” Carolyn replied, sniffing pointedly as if to impress upon her just what she thought of the matter, “You didn’t take your last husband’s name; you’ve _always_ been Deborah Richardson.”

“And now I’m going to be Deborah Crieff.” Deborah concluded; the she was struck by the need to carry on, to justify herself, “It’s…it’s nice, it’ll…give it a sense of permanence…I love Martin, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. It suggests unity, and love, and if we have children, then I want the whole family to have the same name-”

“Please stop; this is torturous.” Carolyn begged, throwing her hands into the air and squeezing her eyes tightly shut, shaking her head; she turned and walked away from the sofa, giving the desks a sweeping glance, “I can’t say I like it, but fine; I will get used to it.”

“Martin won’t.” Deborah remarked, smirking as she relished the sadism that flashed across her mind; Martin could be an annoying and pedantic pest, but when unleashed upon the rest of the world…well, it was one of the reasons she loved him so much, “Prepare yourself for months, maybe even _years_ of him boasting about the fact that I changed my name.”

“God help us.” Carolyn muttered, groaning at the very idea; then, validating Deborah’s suspicion that she was simply wandering around and trying to find something to do with herself, she strode towards the door, “I’ll leave you to it.”

With that Carolyn was gone, letting the door slam behind her; the quiet left in her wake wasn’t quiet as peaceful now that Deborah had been dragged from her trance, and carelessly scribbling the words ‘Deborah Crieff’ seemed a little less entertaining. By now, Arthur should have been chatting and saying something ridiculous, but instead he was tapping idly away at her laptop, eyes flickering up and down the screen as if he were rapt with attention.

“Are you alright Arthur?” Deborah inquired, when the peace became unbearable; Arthur looked up immediately, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, and Deborah took the chance to drop her log-book over the edge of the sofa and shuffle closer over the cushions, tucking her legs up until her knees would brush his elbow should he move too jerkily, and she could rest one arm over the back of the sofa, “You’ve been awfully quiet today…well, mostly quiet.”

“I’m fine.” Arthur assured her far too quickly; his fingers curled around the edge of the laptop, and strangely…Deborah wasn’t entirely sure that he was lying…he was red faced, but he wasn’t tipping over or losing breath…it was odd…“I’ve just been thinking about how happy I am for you, and for Martin. It’s great that you and Skip are getting married; I always knew that you should, because you’re perfect together.”

“Thank you.” Deborah replied softly; remembering why she was asking at all, she tried again, peering suspiciously at his face in an attempt to riddle out the lines that weren’t quite there yet, “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

“Yeah…” Arthur sighed, nodding morosely; he smiled thinly and then turned his gaze back to the laptop, which was enough to prove that he was indeed lying, albeit rather well all things considered, and rather pointlessly.

“Alight, close that.” Deborah instructed, and that was all the warning that Arthur was given before she reached between them and closed the lid of her computer, taking it from his hands and placing on the cushions behind her; then she fixed Arthur with her most sincere stare, letting her features soften, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise.” Arthur insisted weakly, shaking his head all the while; his resolve lasted only seconds though, as with nothing to distract him, he began to pick idly at the rumpled material at his knees, “I’m really happy for you. It’s just that…you and Martin are together, and Mum’s got Herc, and I…I have a lot of free time now that used to be filled up with you guys and I…I just have a lot of time now to think.”

“What you mean is that you’re lonely.” Deborah remarked slowly, letting that idea dawn on her; in the midst of everything that was going on between her and Martin, it hadn’t occurred to her that perhaps Arthur wasn’t happy…he always _looked_ happy, or so she had thought, “Oh, _Arthur…”_

“No, it’s not lonely.” Arthur hastily assured her, raising his palms into the air and lowering them towards her, as if to impress upon her the importance of what he was saying; Deborah only just believed him, as the light in his eyes seemed honest, and in truth, it wasn’t as if he had been spending any less time with them than usual, “If I were lonely, I’d go and talk to the grounds crew, or Karl, or someone.”

“Then what is it?” Deborah asked, actually able to feel the pinched expression on her face as she tried to riddle out what was wrong; she cared about him, but she had to admit, she tended to simply accept that Arthur was alright and leave him to his own devices when the world was running smoothly. Maybe he was just feeling his thirties lumbering on after the uptake…but that didn’t seem right at all.

“I don’t know.” Arthur shrugged his shoulders and gave her a wan smile, shifting so that the cushions dipped and he was turned more definitively towards Deborah; it made their conversation feel somewhat more private, “I think I’m just a bit down because I haven’t had a girlfriend in a really long time, and all of this reminds me. I’m not upset, because it’s brilliant, but…yeah…”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone soon.” Deborah suggested, adopting some of that boundless optimism that Arthur was normally so famous for; she didn’t doubt it for a moment, not when he was really a truly lovely human being…a lot of people may not have understood that, but someone would, “What are you looking for in a woman? I might know someone.”

“I’m not really looking for anything.” Arthur replied honestly, and as helpfully as always; his shoulders seemed to sag a little, and he ran a hand through his hair, “I just want someone that I can be friends with, you know; not like the pony club girls – they’re nice, but…they’re not like Lily was, because she was actually my friend, as well as my girlfriend.”

Of course…Deborah remembered Lily, for the short time that she had been around. She also remembered how upset Arthur had been when he had let her go to Italy to start a new life, but also…how mature he had been; she hadn’t been able to understand at the time, why Arthur had been so determined that the right thing to do was to let Lily go and be happy without him…it was only when Martin had taken his temporary leave at Swiss Air that Deborah had realised that perhaps Arthur was far more of an adult that anyone gave him credit for.

If possible, Arthur might have been the biggest man that she had ever met…and she didn’t think even he knew it. He was one of those sublime beings that deserved all the best of the world.

“That does tend to be the best way to go.” Deborah sighed, settling more comfortably into the sofa; she let her hand flop down to give his elbow a companionable squeeze, and tried to instil in herself a tad more optimism in the hope that it would left Arthur out of his dreary slump, “Anything more specific? Things in common perhaps?”

“It doesn’t even need to be things that we have in common.” Arthur explained; it became apparent by the way that his eyes bored into Deborah’s that now that he was talking, he would keep talking until the matter had come to its natural conclusion, like a dam being broken and draining itself, “One thing I liked about Lily was that even though I knew nothing about the art or the books that she liked, she would tell me about them, and I liked learning new things from her. You know; someone I can look after and enjoy being with.”

“Right, I think I understand.” Deborah remarked, hooking her hands together as if to begin scheming; there was no point in scheming though, and she gave up before the cogs in her mind even began whirring, letting her cheek loll down onto her shoulder, “You want someone to be in love with.”

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed, blinking sadly down at his knees; there was nothing that could really be done about that, as much as Deborah would have liked to help, and it seemed that Arthur understood that as well.

“It’ll happen one day.” Deborah promised, but her voice sounded as empty as it felt as it forced itself past her lips; she let her eyes trace across his face, taking in the set of his limbs and the droop of his posture.

It occurred to her, like a subtle dawning, cloud cover slowly unveiling damp streams of light, that she hadn’t been looking this closely for years; it had been well over a decade, but Deborah hadn’t noticed the young man in his early twenties, more of a boy than anything, turning into a proper adult…and now here he was, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Everything was changing, mostly for the best…and sometimes…there was always hope.

“Maybe.” Arthur responded wanly, pouting as he picked more hardily at the folds at his knee.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Deborah demanded, thwacking his hand away from his knee so that he would look her in the eye again; Arthur was allowed to grow up, but he damn well wasn’t allowed to adopt the same depressing template of mind that everyone else did, “I’m sure you’ll find someone; you just need to look, and be patient.”

“Maybe I’m just not…” Arthur trailed off, and pressed his lips together as if he were actually frustrated; his eyes darted away from Deborah’s face, and his chest heaved as he exhaled, as if he were forcing from himself some sort of horrible fact of life, “It’s fine, if I’m not, but…maybe I’m just not made for that. Because, I’m not…I know I’m how I am, and that’s okay…I might not be good at all of that…adult stuff, like getting married and…and all the other bits…I’d like to be though.”

“What do you mean by…how you are?” Deborah asked, holding her breath as she swept her hair away from her eyes; she never really followed Arthur’s train of thought, but this was particularly worrying.

“Well, you know…” Arthur shrugged flippantly, plastering on the most unconvincing smile that he had ever produced; even his promise that he didn’t really care about Christmas had been more convincing that this, and Deborah shook her head, as she didn’t know _at all_ , “The way that I am and things that I do…I’m a clot.”

“Oh, god…” Deborah closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hand over her lids, biting down on her lip to try and swallow the lump of pure guilt that formed in the base of her throat; everything was so _good_ nowadays that she had forgotten how…caustic she had been just a few years ago, “That’s something I said, isn’t it?”

“Maybe once…or twice.” Arthur admitted, and he reached between them to place a comforting hand on her knee, just as Deborah opened her eyes again; his complete lack of disdain only made her feel worse.

“Arthur, you listen to me very carefully.” Deborah ordered him, grasping his hand in hers and forcing him to look at her as she spoke, even though he attempted to drop his gaze; the wash of self-hatred that flooded her chest was nothing compared to the flare of protectiveness that roared in her guts, “There is nothing wrong with you. I probably won’t say this again…but you are perfect, exactly how you are. I know that nobody’s perfect…but you’re about as close as anyone can get. You’ll be fine.”

She shouldn’t have had to say that, Deborah knew very well; there should never be any reason to reassure one’s friends that they were actually worth a damn.

“What if I’m really not good at all of that?” Arthur asked, his hand gripping hers back with as his eyes glistened slightly; she must have been getting through to him, but that only meant that now he was expecting her to hold some sort of answer, “I mean, the only relationships that I’ve got to work from are Mum’s, which have been awful, and yours, which is great, but I’m not like you and Skip.”

“The first thing you need to do Arthur, is to stop comparing yourself to other people.” Deborah instructed him, severely, taking a deep breath to stop herself from ending it there; she suspected that she had played a large part in whatever was going wrong in Arthur’s self-perception, and that couldn’t be allowed to go on, not when her own life was going so well, “Stop trying to have ‘a relationship’, and just wait for someone to come along who compliments _you_.”

“You mean, says nice things about me?” Arthur’s eyebrows knitted in the centre of his brow, and his lips pursed in confusion; he was entirely serious, and that was enough to shatter the thick air that had leapt up between them.

Deborah scoffed faintly, dropping his hand and slumping until her back hit the back of the sofa, and they were once again sitting side by side; some things never changed.

“No…I mean, in the way that Martin and I may not seem as if we’d fit, and yet from the first moment that we met, even though we could barely stand to be in the same room…something clicked.” Deborah explained wryly, unable to keep her lips from curling upwards at the memories that drifted through her mind; _god_ , they had had some _vicious_ fights, but she wouldn’t erase those if she had the chance, “I’m happier since I met him, and I…well I like to think that I’ve helped raise him up into a more palatable and successful human being.”

“Yeah, you have done that.” Arthur laughed stiltedly; he pushed the back of his hand under his nose, and sighed again, one time too many, “I guess…I might have to wait a long time though.”

“Believe me, Arthur.” Deborah promised, taking care to meet his gaze and abandon any sense of humour or sarcasm that she might have otherwise relied upon, “When it happens, you’ll be glad that the previous attempts failed.”

oOoOoOo

“We need to write up a list.” Martin announced as he dropped unceremoniously onto the sofa; he was wielding a pad of paper and a pen as he hooked his legs and Deborah’s, and swung an arm around her shoulders, “A proper one this time, so that we know exactly what we need.”

“God, do we have to?” Deborah groaned, but she cuddled into Martin’s side regardless, tucking her arms around his middle and resting her cheek on his shoulder so that she could see the paper where he wafted it around through the air; after a long day of teetering between utter joy and nervous worry, she’d have given the world to just lie down with him and go to sleep, knowing that he’d be there, wrapped around her when she woke.

“Yes,” Martin replied tartly, biting down on the end of his pen; it was sweet though, his jittery excitement for their impending marriage, “because if we don’t plan properly, then our wedding will be a disaster.”

“Honestly Martin, I’d be happy in jeans and a jumper, lined up at the registrar’s office.” Deborah murmured; reaching out to tip the paper down, she realised that Martin had already been scribbling neat notes here and there.

“I know, and so would I.” Martin admitted, tipping his chin down to better meet her eye; he said it with the same tone of voice that he used when economising, or working over their bills, “But I want memories, and a proper day that we can look back on…I want to be able to show our children pictures from the day.”

“Alright then.” Deborah conceded, sighing with deliberate candour; he had this ability, one that she had recently become very familiar with, to make the simplest things sound like a fairy-tale, created wonderfully magical images in her head, “You’ve won me over…apart from the best man, what else do we need to plan?”

“I’ve already got the necessities noted down, and categorised based on the nature of each item.” Martin recited eagerly, fidgeting and making the sofa dip and roll underneath them; he pointed at his list, bringing the pad of paper underneath her nose, “Firstly location and time: a date, a church-”

“You want a church wedding?” Deborah repeated, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head back; that was…they hadn’t discussed that, or anything of that nature before…it seemed that there was a lot left to learn about each other.

“Don’t you?” Martin asked, pouting ever so slightly as he lowered his lists; it was obvious that despite his claiming not to really mind, Martin had already come up with some specific ideas as to what he wanted. It was quite nice having a fiancé that actually gave a damn as to what was going on.

“I’ve never had a church wedding.” Deborah remarked thoughtfully; it had never seemed like something important before, so eager had she been to just settle down…Martin wanted an event though, and that was a rather nice idea, “I’d like that actually.”

“Good, so…” Martin nodded slowly and whistled through his teeth, and when he was sure that Deborah wasn’t going to interrupt again, continued reeling off his plans, “A date, a church, transport to and from the church, and a location for the reception.”

“That sounds reasonable.” Deborah remarked lazily, settling back down against the warm rumbling of Martin’s side; if she closed her eyes, it might even be quite hypnotic, which was something that she had been experimenting with over the past few months without Martin’s knowledge.

“I thought so.” Martin replied proudly, and efficiently, humming as he struck a tick next to his notes, “Secondly, people and things related to people: guests – they’re easy, just invite them and they’ll turn up – _us_ – including clothes and rings- the wedding party – so Arthur, and whatever bridesmaids that you want – and…that’s it for people, for now.”

“Again, reasonable.” Deborah noted, exhaling slowly and closing her eyes, letting the darkness soothe the whirring in her head; now all that she had to concentrate on was the pleasant contrast between the softness of Martin’s jumper and the stiffness of his shirt beneath the skin of her hands, “I suppose that having them written down means that it’ll be difficult to forget anything.”

“See, now you’re beginning to understand.” Martin exulted, his voice sounding beside Deborah’s ear, “Thirdly, there’s all the more fiddly bits: decorations for the church, and vows, and all of that, and arranging things for the reception, like food and music, and-”

“I understand, Martin.” Deborah grumbled, and she forced herself to open her eyes and face the harshness of their dull lamps for the sake of reaching up, taking Martin’s chin in the tips of her fingers, and fixing his eyes withers, “But, as we have neither a date nor a location, we don’t have to worry about any of this for a little while.”

“I know, I do – I just want the day to be perfect.” Martin insisted, giving his paper and pen a little shake, clipping their knees with the edge of them, “I know that the ceremony’s not really important, but I want to be able to look back on the best day of my life, and know that we had as much fun as we could, a-and I want to be able to look back on it-”

“I know.” Deborah murmured; with the hand not holding his chin, she took from Martin his paper and pen, and hurled them onto the coffee table, listening for the thud as they hit the floor on the opposite side, “I love you. Now hush.”

“I don’t want to hush.” Martin muttered, peering down at her through narrowed blue eyes, his brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced after his hard work; nevertheless, his eyes wandered back to Deborah’s face, “Why am I hushing?”

“Because I want a kiss, and I can’t do that while you’re talking.” Deborah replied matter-of-factly, pursing her lips; she was pleased when Martin let out a little ‘oh’, and smiled as if he were grateful, forgetting for a while the practical matters involved in planning a wedding.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Looking back, Deborah decided that she should have known that Martin would never agree to go out for a celebratory dinner with his family unless the purpose of that dinner was to show off. Not that she minded showing off; she was a veritable champion of the sport. There was something dearly exasperating though about standing in the porch of a restaurant while Martin fussed and tugged at his third best suit, unable to settle after decreeing Deborah’s simple dress and cardigan far more perfect than anything he could achieve.

“Oh, god, they’re here already.” Martin bemoaned as he peered through the wide glass window at the front of the restaurant, to where his mother and siblings were already sitting around their reserved table; he was grimacing as his hands flew over every crease in his suit, and dragged through his hair as if he were reaching for a hat that wasn’t there, making his cheeks flushed red with frustration, “How do I look? D-do I look alright? I don’t do I? I look a mess; I knew I shouldn’t have put my coat on.”

“Martin, you look very handsome.” Deborah assured him fondly, bridging the gap between them to extend her arms and take the lapels of his jacket between her fingers, straightening it and then smoothing them down with the palms of her hands, stroking back over his shoulders for good measure when he lowered his hands and they formed a warm weight at her elbows; his family was a touchy subject, so there was no harm in indulging his neuroses for a while, “I wouldn’t have let you leave the house if you didn’t.”

“But my jacket’s all rumpled and my tie’s not straight.” Martin insisted, pouting imploringly down at her as he stepped back and tried to adjust the tie that was wrapped tightly enough around his neck that if he tugged at it any longer he might strangle himself.

“Come here.” Deborah instructed, ushering him back towards her; head hanging, Martin allowed Deborah to loosen his tie and set about knotting it properly, which his eyes followed the movements of her hands in the few inches of space that were left between them, “They’re your family. They care more about the fact that you’re getting married than what you’re wearing.”

“I bet Simon’s dressed up _really_ specially for this.” Martin muttered; his eyes flickered back towards the window, stubborn as always. No matter what happened in their lives, there would be nothing that could shatter Martin’s almost visceral reaction to his brother…at least he didn’t react like this on the flight-deck any more.

“And it won’t even matter.” Deborah sighed, tilting her head back imperceptibly so that she could meet his eyes without stepping away; her hands slipped from the v-shaped cut of his jacket up to his shoulders, where she could squeeze gently, “For once, Martin, you’re going to be the centre of attention. You most _definitely_ will be if you don’t stop fussing, because I’ll have gone home; I’m not dealing with your family alone while you fret.”

“Right, I’m sorry; you’re right.” Martin conceded, nodding swiftly and reaching up to take Deborah’s hands in his; for a fraction of a second she thought that the matter was resolved, but then his expression shifted, and he was hissing conspiratorially, “Simon’s not married. Caitlin is, but _he’s_ not.”

“Well done, darling, you win.” Deborah remarked wryly, stepping back, slipping out of Martin’s grasp, and raising her hands in surrender; any other day she might have teased him, but she understood, and was willing to be patient for the sake of not embarrassing him in front of his brother, “Now, is that all out of your system?”

“Yes.” Martin nodded, standing a little taller and clipping his heels together, as he did when showing wealthy customers aboard GERTI; he inhaled sharply, and just like that he was the fidgety, prim captain aboard his imaginary aircraft.

“Good.” Deborah announced, pressing her palms together; if she was honest, the idea of spending the evening with Martin’s family was nerve-wracking, but if it meant that making their own family was more peaceful, then she could endure the odd stares that she would no doubt receive after the last time that they had all gathered together, “Shall we descend into the pit?”

“Don’t say things like that.” Martin snapped, his voice turning throaty and shrill; nevertheless, he shuffled to Deborah’s side and took her hand, gripping tightly as she began leading him into the restaurant, pushing the glass door open and releasing the delicate bubble of polite murmuring, “You’re making me more worried than I already am.”

Neither of them spoke as they walked slowly through the restaurant, only nodding to the passing waiter as they navigated the tables that could have been arranged like the sprinkling of sequins on a sheet. Martin’s mother spotted them before they reached the group, Martin lagging just far enough behind Deborah that their arms formed a loose chain pulled taut between them.

“Martin!” Wendy exclaimed, rising from her seat at the sight of her son, managing to make her voice heard over the atmospheric clattering of cutlery that seemed to resonate in establishments such as this; she threw her arms out, and Deborah released his hand so that she could step aside and allow them room, “There you are.”

“See, I said he’d be along in a minute.” Caitlin piped in from where she remained seated, her arms folded as she nodded towards Martin’s still awkwardly shuffling form; her long ginger hair was tied back, and she was dressed in a formal dress and jacket that might have been more fitting at an office party, “He’s never been late for anything in his life.”

“Hello Cat.” Martin muttered, shooting his sister a sideways glance as he stepped into his mother’s arms, wrapping his own around her shoulders and patting stiltedly at her back; she was a short woman, and her paling hair had obviously been carefully arranged, so he was left trying to hold his arms at right angles to avoid squashing her, “Hello Mum, how are you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Martin. Don’t you look _handsome.”_ Wendy cooed, standing back and sighing as she ran her eyes over his suit and watched him blush; then she turned away from him and held her hands out to Deborah, treating her to a welcoming smile, _“_ And Deborah! You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Wendy.” Deborah replied courteously, allowing herself to be pulled into a brief hug; for the sake of the evening, she would be nothing but polite, and make the best impression that she was capable of.

“Oh, you both look so wonderful together.” Wendy tittered over the, ushering Deborah and Martin back to each other’s sides as she lifted Deborah’s hand and fluttered her eyes over the ring on her finger; then she turned to where her oldest son was sitting, “Simon, look at them both; aren’t they just perfect?”

“What?” Simon grumbled, jolting as if he hadn’t been paying attention; just like Caitlin he was dressed as if he had come straight from a council meeting, and if Deborah wasn’t mistaken, he eyed Martin as if he were still smarting from their last encounter, “Yes, of course, they are. Well done, Martin; you’ve done well for yourself.”

“I have, haven’t I?” Martin preened, shuddering into stillness as a proud smile appeared on his face; Deborah felt his hand slip around her back, so she took that as her cue to take the lead and take a seat, making sure to appear as if she were paying particular attention to Martin as he sat at her side and continued talking, “It’s not every day that people get engaged to their best friend.”

“Although I’m sure there are thousands of people willing to argue their case.” Deborah drawled, curling her hand around Martin’s the moment that he laid it down beside his neatly placed cutlery, taking a well-practiced glance at each member of his family in turn before fixing her gaze on his; she knew how to maintain an intimate façade while masterfully engage the rest of the group.

“Theirs aren’t as good though.” Martin murmured, lowering his voice and leaning in until it could be imagined that they held a modicum of privacy; they didn’t, but it _could_ be imagined with the mind of someone as self-possessed as Martin.

“I agree entirely.” Deborah remarked, lilting her tone and widening her eyes just enough that if she were talking to someone with any sense of tact, they would have remembered that there were other people around who might not appreciate his opinion, “However I’m not sure there’s any real way to quantify the value of a couple’s love for each other.”

“Ours is better.” Martin insisted, smirking without a care; it was charming how proud he was, but Deborah was beginning to realise that she needed to find some way to curb his pride, other than digging her nails into the flesh of his knuckles, or in an extreme circumstance, delivering a sharp kick to his shin.

“Well, hold on.” Caitlin interjected, sitting a little straighter as she glared at Martin from across the table; Wendy and Simon just looked between the two of them, as if used to altercations between brother and sister, “I’m married.”

“I know you are.” Martin replied matter-of-factly, almost smugly; for all of his fretting, he was making very little effort where getting along was concerned, “Where _is_ Keith?”

“He’s working the night shift.” Caitlin retorted curtly, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for a confrontation; from what Deborah could remember, she was even more stubborn than Martin was, “What are you implying?”

“He’s not implying anything.” Deborah interjected before Martin could do more than open his mouth; she even leaned ever so slightly across him in the hope that Caitlin would be distracted by losing him from her direct line of sight, “I think your brother’s just _overwhelmed_ with excitement…with good cause, I assure you.”

“Aren’t you that colleague that Martin brought with him that time Mum was ill?” Simon asked without any preamble; it became clear then that he _had_ been narrowing his eyes and trying to remember where they had met before, rather than simply holding his tongue, “His First Officer?”

“Yes I am.” Deborah replied smoothly, nodding and shifting her arm fractionally to the side, so that it was pressed up against Martin’s; he responded by rippling his knuckles against her wrist, and blinking down at her, as if he were awaiting her reaction before he stepped in to help, “Now I’m his fiancé, and soon I’ll be his wife.”

“But still my First Officer.” Martin interjected hastily; of course he couldn’t let that slide…but it was his moment today, he deserved it.

“Quite.” Deborah replied, pursing her lips and holding her expression as best as she could; it was true, her stomach was turning as it occurred to her that she was at risk of either insulting or being insulted, but she couldn’t help but feel indignant on her fiancé’s behalf, “I’m glad that I made such an impression.”

“So does that mean that you were together at the time?” Simon inquired thickly, exhaling into his moustache as he peered between she and Martin; in all fairness, Deborah thought that he seemed genuinely bewildered, however insulting that might have been, “I’m sure I would have remembered if you and old Martin were an item.”

“No, we weren’t together then.” Deborah acknowledged, swallowing the lump in her throat that felt oddly reminiscent of a barrage of sharp words ready to dislodge and fly into the air; as she hooked her hand around Martin’s, she surreptitiously propped her other elbow up on the table and curled the loose waves of her hair around her fingers. All the better for appearing confident but confrontational if needs be.

“But you were before.” Wendy cut in, smiling generously at Deborah as if to say ‘I’ve got this dear, no need to worry’; it was nice to know that someone was on their side, “I remember Martin telling us all about you before I was ill.”

“So you were together, then you weren’t, but now you are again?” Simon continued, turning his head from side to side as if Deborah and Martin might give him different answers; it wasn’t hard to see how he and Martin were related, at times like this.

“Martin; didn’t you go to Switzerland for a while?” Caitlin cut in, unabashed in her inquiry despite the faltering expression on their mother’s face; it was then that Deborah began to worry that perhaps this dinner was going exactly the way that Martin had feared it might, with the rest of his family carrying on while he stumbled and floundered behind them.

“I did actually.” Martin retorted tartly, his chest heaving ever so slightly as his hand clenched around Deborah’s’ he needed to deal with this himself though, and Deborah needed to keep her mouth shut so that she didn’t alienate her future husband’s siblings, “I got a job for Swiss Air. Thank you for noticing after all these _years_.”

“But now you’re in Fitton again?” Simon clarified, almost business-like in the way he sat forwards and analysed his brother, “Why’d you give up a job like that?”

“I came back for Deborah,” Martin didn’t quite squawk indignantly, but his cheeks did flush a darker shade of scarlet and his lips dropped into a pout as he stuck out his jaw, “which I-I’m glad I did, actually, because now we’re getting married.”

“And you were together when you were in Switzerland?” Caitlin added, narrowing her eyes at Martin and leaning forwards as well; it was as if he were being lined up in front of a jury and tried for some heinous crime. Honestly, they couldn’t even give him one night to be pleased with himself – it was _his_ engagement after all.

“No!” Martin squeaked, looking desperately to Deborah before tumbling into one of his unstoppable avalanches of rambling and stuttering, “I mean – we were a couple, sort of, except we weren’t together, not quite. B-b-but we were still in love, and, and I, it doesn’t matter now, because we’re good, and we’ve always been good, except for a few hitches-”

“So you broke up?” Simon’s brow furrowed, as if he couldn’t perceive such a turn of events; it was enough to make Martin huff at Deborah’s side, the perfect warning that she needed to do something, quickly.

“There were a few hitches, as there are in any relationship.” Deborah spoke calmly and clearly, taking care to hold Simon’s gaze and impress upon him the silliness of such a line of inquiry; he was hardly the most intimidating person that she had had to talk down to, “But as Martin pointed out, we have _always_ been the best of friends, and will continue to love each other, regardless.”

“Exactly.” Martin chipped in, lowering his free hand to the table in a definitive motion, that were he anyone else would have meant the end of the discussion; as it was, the action came across as rather helpless, “We love each other.”

“Well, yes, of course, there are hitches.” Simon assented, nodding sagely as if he were an expert upon the matter, despite remaining pitifully single, “But if you broke up, then surely that means that there are _problems_ ; are you sure that you’ve smoothed them all out.”

“Yes! Yes we have!” Martin snapped, ignoring the imploring look that his mother sent him; he was barely an inch away from imploding in on himself, giving Deborah’s hand a little shake as if to demonstrate the tangible evidence of his words, “We’ve sorted all our problems, and we’re absolutely fine, and it’s none of your business.”

“I’m only asking because I want both of you to be happy.” Simon insisted, extending his hands towards Martin; to his credit, he did seem possessed by some sort of misguided concern, rather than the judgement that Martin was probably perceiving, “Are you sure that the issues that split you up in the first place aren’t going to resurface?”

“Because-” Martin began to retort, but he wasn’t allowed to finish; he would only have made things worse.

“Can I stop you there?” Deborah inquired politely, raising her free hand into the air in case anyone thought that that was an actual request, and not a demand, “As much as I… _admire_ your concern, Simon, I think that in this particular case, it’s unnecessary. _All_ couples have _issues_ , but that’s not going to be a problem; you see, Martin and I know where our _issues_ lie, and we’re _both_ willing to put in the effort and overcome them when they arise.”

“That’s not exactly a perfect marriage if you _know_ that you’re going to fight-” Simon started, but Deborah wasn’t hearing any of it; all of this doubt regarding her and Martin’s relationship was beginning to get tiresome.

“I’ve tried to achieve _perfect_ before.” Deborah interrupted what was sure to be a well thought out argument; she couldn’t help the shadow of a bitter smirk that curled her lips, but the sudden stillness of her chest was thawed by the sensation of Martin’s hand, warm and sweaty against hers, “It was hard work, and it never ended well. As it is, I’m rather pleased with my current lot in life.”

“As am I.” Martin agreed shortly; if he was allowed to argue with Simon for much longer, Deborah was afraid that he might start growling, “We’re very happy, _without_ your concern.”

“Oh, isn’t that lovely.” Wendy cooed, a little too loudly; she extended her hands out to both of her sons and glared pointedly at the both of them, nodding out across the restaurant, “Martin, dear, how about you and Simon go to that bar over there and pick some nice wine.”

The implication was clear, and the order even more so, and yet Deborah seemed to be the only one to recognise the dismissal, as only Simon rose to his feet, and Martin stayed exactly where he was; both of them were blinking at her and shaking their heads as they fiddled with the open lines of their suits.

“Why can’t Simon do that on his own?” Martin asked, wrinkling his nose as he watched his brother puff out his shoulders and stand far taller than Martin could ever hope to be.

“I think I can choose wine without help.” Simon added, exuding pompousness from every angle as he lifted his voice to sound superior and knowledgeable, “I get the rounds in for the lads at the council; I reckon I know a thing or two.”

“No, no; you all like different things.” Wendy insisted, making wafting motions with her hands while her pleasant smile remained firmly fixed upon her lips; she managed to make a dismissal sound almost like a gift, or a really good idea, “Both of you should go.”

“Go on Martin.” Deborah murmured, leaning in so that she could almost whisper in his ear without taking her attention from the others that were sitting around the table; as a little extra push, she slipped her hand from his and placed it firmly down on the table, where she could pick at the frills on her napkin.

“But you don’t-” Martin lowered his voice, his eyebrows knitting as he visibly tried to rationalise Deborah’s request for him to go and choose alcohol.

“Of course, I’m driving, so I’ll just have a glass of water.” Deborah said pointedly, pursing her lips and nodding just a little _less_ subtly towards the bar; the last thing she wanted his brother knowing was that Martin was marrying an alcoholic, on top of everything else, “But you should go and help your brother.”

“Oh, alright…” Martin nodded slowly, blinking in confusion as he pushed his chair back from the table, “I’ll do that then.”

As Martin reluctantly followed Simon away from the table, glancing over his shoulder like a puppy that had been abandoned, Caitlin took the opportunity to excuse herself and visit the toilets. It was a merciful relief, providing a moment of peace; it also meant that Deborah was now alone with Wendy, who spared no trouble in leaning across the table and addressing Deborah, as if she had been dying to do so from the moment she had sat down.

“I really am _so_ glad that you’re joining the family.” Wendy exclaimed softly, wringing her hands together as she gazed at Deborah; she might as well have saved Martin from a fire for all the gratitude that was radiating from the other woman, “You’re absolutely lovely.”

“Thank you.” Deborah replied, plastering on a coy smile and settling back in her seat; such sincere flatter was still a novelty, no matter how much of it she received, and it only added to her relief that someone was happy to see that she and Martin were devoting their lives to each other, “I must say, I’m rather glad to be marrying your son.”

“You have a daughter, don’t you?” Wendy inquired, narrowing her eyes, brow furrowing much like Martin’s did; all of a sudden Deborah realised that she was fishing for information, and paving the way for a conversation of a far more intense nature.

“Yes…Verity’s twelve now.” Deborah explained wanly, letting her eyes fall down to her fingers as she fiddled with the napkin; as much as she loved to talk about her daughter, being a single mother without custody was just one more thing that might turn Martin’s family against her, “She’s as excited as Martin is…although I think that has more to do with her being a bridesmaid than her mother being a bride.”

“Children will be children.” Wendy sighed, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders in the way that Deborah had seen thousands of parents do when talking about their children, but had never mastered herself; then Wendy lowered her voice and stole a glance at Martin and Simon’s backs where they were still bickering at the bar, “That’s why I wanted them out of the way; so that I could talk to you alone, and tell you how pleased I am.”

“You said; and I’m grateful.” Deborah smiled politely, pressing her lips into a thin line; there was only so much flattery that she could endure, after all.

“I mean it though. You’re just what Martin needs.” Wendy insisted, her pearl necklace jangling as she inhaled the long-held sigh of someone who hadn’t quite become world weary; she frowned with sympathy, “He’s had a tough time, and I know that maybe he doesn’t feel as if his father and I paid him enough attention, but I think that you give him everything he’s ever wanted.”

“Hmmm.” Deborah hummed her acknowledgement, not trusting herself to say anything appropriate to the situation; instead, she changed the subject, “Martin doesn’t talk about his father...or anyone really…he’s very…quiet when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“That’s alright.” Wendy assured her, batting her hand through the air; she had probably spent years getting used to the idea, “Martin’s always been so independent, and _headstrong,_ and so determined that he was going to be a pilot that he never really needed any of us; he did it all on his own. That’s what made Raymond – my late husband – that’s what made him think that Martin was reliable enough to look after the van.”

“Which he’s still doing.” Deborah remarked, just in case Wendy had forgotten; she was quite impressed by Martin’s determination to carry on running Icarus, purely so that they had money to put into savings accounts for a rainy day, “Martin’s started a whole business around it.”

“Exactly; it’s wonderful.” Wendy agreed, nodding severely nonetheless, “But he’s stubborn too…far too stubborn, and it makes him…”

“Socially inept?” Deborah suggested, smirking as she let her eyes wander across the room to where Martin was still arguing with Simon, his back straight, hands clenched, stubborn as always.

“Yes. That’s why his father was so eager to train him up as an electrician; he was worried about him failing _again_ , and then being left alone with no job and no friends and no way to earn any money.” Wendy explained, grimacing sheepishly when Deborah looked back to her, “Then of course he went and had a heart attack four months before Martin got his pilot’s licence…it was typical of the both of them. They were never on the same page. Raymond would have liked you though; he’d have been so proud that Martin found someone as good for him as you are.”

“Not that I’m normally one to talk myself down…”  Deborah cleared her throat, trying not to linger too long on the uncomfortable lump that had formed there, and carefully dragged the tips of her fingers through her hair before curling her arms around her chest, “but I think you might be overestimating how good for Martin I actually am.”

“No, I’m not.” Wendy let out a faint laugh and smiled warmly; her gaze was unassuming and hopeful, and impossible to deliberately shatter, “Martin he…he’s always been so wrapped up in himself, and in being the best, and in flying and planes, that he just shuts out the rest of the world; I remember when he was a boy and he wouldn’t care about going to other children’s birthday parties because he wanted to stay at home and build his model planes.”

“Yes…that sounds about right.” Deborah muttered; she suspected that staying home alone might not have been entirely Martin’s decision, not after seeing how eager he was to try and fit in with the grounds crew, “When I first met him all he’d ever talk about were correct procedures and how he was the captain.”

“Exactly.” Wendy exclaimed; she lay her palms down on the table and pursed her lips in the way that only mothers can, “It’s all well and good Martin mooning over beautiful women and anyone who shows the slightest interest in aviation, but he needed someone who could be his _friend_ , someone that could be _patient_ with him, and who he could laugh with.”

“I like to think I do all of that.” Deborah replied honestly; she wasn’t sure whether the air in her lungs was simmering pleasantly or freezing, clenching at whichever shreds of self-doubt still existed in her psyche, “I won’t pretend it didn’t take a while, but I worked out how to navigate him in the end.”

“That’s why you’re so perfect for him.” Wendy insisted, nodding when Deborah narrowed her eyes and shook her head; it was easy to see where Martin inherited his refusal to give up, “My son has always had his head in the clouds, but from the moment he started working with you, he started talking about all this foreign countries that he was going to, and the people on the airfield, and _you_. He never stopped talking about _you_. All I’d hear, even when it was all complaints, was about things that you’d said and things that you’d done.”

“ _Really_?” Deborah drawled, smirking as she looked once again to Martin; they seemed to be almost done, bottles in their hands, but both men were still red faced, “I must say, that sounds like the perfect thing to remind him of next time we’re alone.”

“Oh, but this is what I mean. You play with him, instead of just dismissing him because he’s a bit…well, _Martin_.” Wendy beamed, as if Deborah had said the most wonderful thing; she’d be singing a different tune had she been on some of their flights, “All he’s ever needed was for someone to drag him out of his bubble and into the world, and now that you’ve done that, I’ve never seen him happier. He really does love you.”

“Thank you.” Deborah couldn’t think of what else to say; there were only so many ways to display modesty, and she wasn’t too inclined towards pretending that she didn’t think she and Martin were perfect for each other. It didn’t matter though, as almost as if timed, Caitlin, Simon, and Martin all appeared, scraping their chairs across the floor.

“What are you talking about?” Martin inquired, making no effort at pretending that he wasn’t being nosy; he was gripping a bottle of red wine as if it were the Holy Grail, wrapping his fingers around it while he kept one eye on Simon’s movements.

“Ooh, you shouldn’t ask them that, Martin.” Simon tutted and shook his head, speaking in a particularly pompous tone as if making up for the lack of wine in his hands; he sat back and clicked his knuckles, smirking smarmily, “Women’s talk’s a sacred thing, not for our ears.”

“But I want to know what they were talking about.” Martin snapped, turning his attention back onto Deborah, blinking imploringly down at her; he must have honestly thought that batting his eyelashes at her worked.

“If you’re good, I’ll tell you later.” Deborah promised, placing her hand over his wrist; she smiled coyly, and flickered a wink. Martin could pout all that he liked; now that she was sure she had his mother’s approval, there was no reason that she couldn’t get through this dinner with a smile on her face and no cares at all.

Perhaps she would tell him later; she had time to make up a clever lie if she changed her mind.

oOoOoOo

It was a bad day to come down with a head cold; Deborah would have rather been trailing around after Martin and Arthur than lounging around the flat with a bottle of elderflower water in the place of vodka, finding things to do. She was warm…that was a bonus, she supposed…at least the heaters worked, and the television gave off quite a lot of heat. Even so, Deborah was very, _very_ bored.

There was only so much enjoyment that one could take from putting their feet up on the sofa and watching re-runs of old crime dramas on ITV-3; Poirot was a dear, but like Arthur, his charm lasted only so long.

Deborah was just settling back into the cushions, letting her eyes fall closed and the lulling haze of the television wash her into a warm and soothing doze, when her fluffy bubble of melting psyche was pierced by the shrill ringing of the doorbell. For a moment she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that whoever it was would go away, but when another ring punched the air Deborah was forced to open her eyes, push the loose strands of hair from her face, and hoist herself to her feet and across the room.

The sight that she was welcomed with upon swinging the door open was as unwelcome as the gust of damp air that came with it; Deborah ignored the self-satisfied smile, the confident stance that hadn’t changed in the twenty years that had padded out its owner’s figure and greyed his brittle hair, and instead just closed her eyes, relishing one last moment of darkness.

“Hello, Debbie!” Archie announced himself, sounding just as smarmily pleased to see her as always; he couldn’t have talked to her as if she were just as intelligent as him if he’d tried, “Can I come in?”

“I…suppose.” Deborah sighed, opening her eyes and stepping aside to let her brother stride through into her front room as if he had been there a thousand times before; she waited until the door was closed, and her back against it, before she spoke again, too tired to be anything more than exhaustedly confused at his presence, “Archie, what are you doing here? The wedding’s not for another fortnight.”

“I know it’s not.” Archie replied matter-of-factly, while he turned on his heel to inspect the sitting room, his eyes falling lastly on the tattered old armchairs that were all pointing at the coffee table; Deborah noted how his voice sounded hoarser than the last time they had spoken, she suspected more from age than illness, “The invitation you sent me had a date on it, and I, being the loving brother that I am, wrote it in my diary. It’s funny though; I could have sworn that close family were supposed to be informed about this kind of thing _before_ the invitations went out.”

“I did inform you.” Deborah retorted wanly; she didn’t move away from the door, taking some dreary comfort from the solidity behind her back as she watched Archie move towards the chairs as if to lower himself into them, then stop and stand back, “I sent you a text.”

“‘ _Hi Archie, getting married.’_ Is not the same as you calling to tell me that you’re getting hitched again.” Archie reprimanded her, folding his arms over his chest as he fixed her with a pointed glare from across the room; it was like being twelve years old again.

“Alright, fine; I’ll concede that I probably should have let you know.” Deborah admitted, raising her hands in surrender; she was too tired for this…she would have endured Martin and Arthur’s incessant chatter if she had known that her brother was going to turn up out of the blue, “Now, what do you want?”

“I want to sit and talk to you.” Archie informed her, managing as always to sound almost reasonable, as if he was in the right; the fact that he was in _her_ sitting room, pressing his hands together, didn’t seem to occur to him at all, “And a cup of tea if you’ve got it.”

“Fine…” Deborah sighed, giving in far more easily than she would have on any other day; she pressed the heel of one hand over her eyes before striding into the kitchen, heading straight for the kettle and reaching for a chipped mug. Perhaps if she let him talk then he would leave more quickly, giving her time to catch a few minutes sleep before Martin arrived home.

“Thank you very much.” Archie replied; Deborah could hear his footsteps following her into the kitchen, followed by the scrape of a chair around the table.

“Well go on then.” Deborah groaned, turning on her heel to lean against the counter while the kettle broiled and bubbled behind her; just as she’d thought, Archie was surveying her with the self-same superiority that he always had, “What did you come here to say?”

“I came to have a conversation with my sister and catch up with what’s going on in her life.” Archie retorted, going so far as to cock his eyebrows and purse his lips in judgement; he knew full well that they didn’t talk to each other on a regular basis, and that had always worked very well, “Apart from that call to ask me to hire your airline, which I’m still doing by the way, I haven’t heard a word from you. I don’t even know who this Martin is.”

“I’m sure I’ve mentioned Martin before.” Deborah shook her head and narrowed her eyes, desperately trying to grasp the moment in which she had mentioned Martin recently; the kettle clicked, but she ignored it for the sake of meeting Archie’s gaze and nodding as if that might improve her chances of rectifying the situation, “My captain…my best friend…I must have mentioned him before.”

“Oh, he’s your captain!” Archie exclaimed, sitting back and dropping his palms flat on the table as he nodded and rolled his eyes; it must have been a long time since they had properly spoken, “Yes, you mentioned _him_ ; I remember you telling me you wanted to throttle him over some landing…I suppose if nothing else, that _is_ more information than I ever got on the other two.”

“Yes, well…I still want to throttle him every now and again.” Deborah muttered, swallowing awkwardly as she rapped her fingers on the counter behind her; then she surged into action, pouring Archie’s tea and placing it on the table so quickly that she was sitting in the chair opposite him, lacing her hands together, “Come on, Archie. I _know_ you didn’t come here without a list of criticisms.”

“Actually, I only had one thing that I needed to _tell_ you.” Archie replied, failing to falter or show any kind of embarrassment at being caught out; he leaned forwards, propping his joined hands up on the table top as he looked severely into Deborah’s eyes, “No more weddings. Three is my limit; after you marry this one, I’m never attending another one, so you better make this marriage work.”

“That sounds fair.” Deborah acknowledged, reflexively leaning back until her spine ached with the effort of staying upright against the hard wood of the chair; she would have given the world to have this conversation whilst slouching on the sofa, where it would be entirely acceptable to close her eyes and nod off, “It’s not as if I expect you to be there; I’m not asking for anything.”

“I know that you’re not _asking_ , but you’re _getting_.” Archie countered, his expression remaining hard and unabashed; then he smiled in a way that some people might have found charming, but that Deborah was sick of, “I actually came here because I want to give you a proper wedding send-off. You know…third time lucky, and all that nonsense.”

“Archie, I don’t need your help.” Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall closed so that she didn’t have to look at his unabashed confidence.

“It doesn’t matter, Debbie, because I’m giving it whether you want it or not.” Archie replied, brushing away her dismissal without a second thought; it was infuriating, and enough to stoke the fire in her belly and force her eyes open to glare at him from across the table.

“We’ve sorted everything out ourselves.” Deborah snapped, then reigned herself in, inhaling sharply and pressing her lips tightly together; there was no point in getting angry, especially when she knew that Archie had a whole arsenal of things that he could throw at her in response, “Martin and I are in fact mature adults, and entirely capable of arranging our own wedding. I realise that it may be difficult for an _old_ man such as yourself to get to grips with my self-sufficiency-”

“Do you have a dress?” Archie inquired without any preamble; he quirked his eyebrows and smirked when Deborah could only glare at him.

“Not yet.” Deborah replied curtly, folding her arms over her chest; even with Martin’s prodding, she had been procrastinating, fretting inwardly despite how clichéd the matter was, unable to settle on a course of action for  something that wasn’t really all that important, “I haven’t decided whether I’m having a white one, or just a normal dress…we don’t want a fuss.”

“Then I’m helping you choose your dress.” Archie decided, smiling to himself as if the matter were solved; there was no doubt that he had decided he would be taking over before he had started his journey, “And paying for it; my treat.”

“You’re not paying for my dress.” Deborah retorted, gritting her teeth so that she couldn’t say anything more; she had accepted far too much from him in the past, and she wasn’t about to owe him anymore favours.

“Who runs his own modelling company?” Archie asked, as one would a small child, lilting his tone just so; he carried on before Deborah could do much more than roll her eyes and pout, smirking like a cat that had got the cream, “And who has enough money to buy the best dress within fifty miles of Fitton?”

“Not me, that’s for sure.” Deborah noted, grimacing at the smug look on Archie’s face; it was atrocious, and no matter how tired she was, she couldn’t accept his offer just like that, “It doesn’t need to be the best.”

“So who is going to accept her brother’s help, and let him buy her dress…as a wedding present?” Archie prodded her again; for all that he had aged, he still managed to blink across the table at her in the same old way that he always had, like a small child imploring their puppy to perform tricks.

The apathy that had been present for the first thirty years of her life had faded when they fell out of regular contact and it became apparent that Deborah could look after herself, but all that meant was that his vision was clouded by the image of her as an infant instead of the annoying child that he had become accustomed to.

“I don’t think you’ve ever bought me a wedding present before.” Deborah conceded, looking away from Archie’s face so that she could stare instead at the edge of the table; Martin wouldn’t like her accepting such large gifts, and neither did she…but they weren’t the most well off couple, and it wouldn’t hurt to take advantage of her brother’s generosity when he was packaging it so harmlessly.

God, she was so tired that that actually seemed like a good idea.

“No, I didn’t, because I didn’t approve of the last two.” Archie shrugged his shoulders but didn’t let the matter drop; if anything, he sounded apologetic, even guilty for his past behaviour, “I don’t know anything about your latest man, but…this is a nice flat, and you seem happy. There’s no reason why I can’t make up for my lack of previous support.”

“Alright…you can buy the dress.” Deborah sighed, bidding farewell to the last of her resolve; as a last act of rebellion, she curled her hand through the air and pressed the tips of her fingers over her brow, using the motion to try and soothe away the exhausted sting, “But you’re not deciding what it looks like; I want to retain at least some modicum of autonomy.”

“Debbie, I’ve seen the sorts of things you wear.” Archie scoffed, taking a sip of his tea and appearing for once like the smug owner of a modelling company that he was; there would be no arguing with him from now, that was for sure, “Nobody who willingly dressed like a granddad in their thirties deserves any kind of autonomy.” He paused, and then asked more sombrely, lowering his mug down onto the table and dropping his gaze, “I’m assuming Verity will be at the wedding?”

“Yes, she’ll be there.” Deborah answered, allowing a faint smile to alight on her lips as she thought of her daughter, beaming as she threw herself into Martin’s arms at the announcement of their engagement; things would be better for all of them when Deborah could show off her own, perfectly functioning, family, “I think she’s been writing a bridesmaid’s speech, but Chris hasn’t been able to get anything out of her.”

“Good…I haven’t seen her in a while.” Archie murmured, peering down into his tea; it was hard though to be sympathetic for him missing his niece when Deborah was her _mother_ and still only got to see her on an extremely irregular basis, “I thought she might be a bit old now for me to be sneaking her biscuits, so I’m going to give her a twenty and pretend that you don’t know.”

“Only if you tell her she has to put half of it in her piggy bank.” Deborah told him, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second as they shared a slither of understanding; that an odd light entered Archie’s eyes didn’t even raise her suspicions as it might normally, “I don’t want her spending all of it on sweets.”

“That’s something else I wanted to talk about, actually.” Archie announced abruptly, clearing his throat; this time however, he seemed almost uncomfortable, which was enough to make Deborah shift where she was slumping in the hard wooden chair and fix him with an expectant stare, “You…having more kids.”

“I’m not sure I want to discuss that with you.” Deborah laughed stiltedly, smirking more out of embarrassment than anything else; the thoughts of the future that she and Martin had been tentatively exploring still made her lungs flutter, no matter how pleasant they were, but Deborah still only felt comfortable expressing her desires for such things…well, with Martin. The last person she wanted to spill her wants and hopes with was her brother.

“You haven’t got a choice.” Archie countered, certain in his authority, as always; even though she didn’t look, Deborah could _feel_ his eyes on her face, like lasers zoning in on their target, “Dad’s not around to have this discussion with you, but I am, and I don’t want you running into any more hitches after you’re married.”

“Martin and I haven’t even talked about this, not properly-” Deborah insisted wanly, trying her best to sound exasperated when in reality she felt more like a child being scolded for something they hadn’t done yet; she wasn’t one to fidget, but it was a close call.

“But you want children with him?” Archie continued to interrogate her unimpeded it seemed by tact or any sense of sympathy for his sister’s discomfort; it was still disconcerting seeing him try and act like a parent when he was as far from it as it was possible to be.

“Well, _yes_.” Deborah remarked wryly, doing her best to assume an unaffected façade, pushing her hair behind her shoulders and tucking her arms more tightly around her chest, “The whole point of us getting married is that we spend our lives together, start a family…get a cat…”

“Then you shouldn’t leave it too long.” Archie replied, his words coming just a little too quickly as his expression pinched as if he were in pain just thinking about it; he was lucky that Deborah was bewildered by what he was saying, or she might not have been listening at all, “Debbie, as loathe as I am to think about it…you’re not as young as you used to be, and Martin…”

“He’s thirty eight.” Deborah interjected, then cursed herself for falling into his trap.

“Right, so both of you are older than most people that get married and start families.” Archie elaborated, then sighed; his hands twitched as if he were about to reach out to her, but decided against it at the last second, “I want you to be happy, and if you want children to be a part of that, then you can’t leave it too long. Things go wrong…if you wait until you’re _ready_ then you might miss your chance.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Deborah admitted, after a moment of silence in which she inhaled slowly in an attempt to clear her head; he had a point…as much as she wished he didn’t…she and Martin had been so caught up in their plans that the…logistics…hadn’t been touched on at all, “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

Apparently that was exactly what Archie had expected, as he merely snorted and ran his hand through his thinning hair, wincing as if at the brittleness of it under his palm. Deborah thought about saying something more, and about propping her feet up on one of the empty chairs, and about simply closing her eyes and falling asleep…but mercifully she was saved the effort of coming to a decision, as from the front window resonated the low rumbling whirr that she had grown so accustomed to that the sound of it made a warmth flutter through her chest. Martin’s van may have been falling to pieces, but it never failed to alert her to its owner’s presence, like a well-trained labra-doodle.

“That’s Martin.” Deborah announced, perhaps a tad too eagerly; she didn’t linger on that thought however, and instead pushed away from the table, rising to her feet and striding from the kitchen, safe in the knowledge that Archie was following, hands in pockets, as he always would, “He’s been out with Arthur doing…I think they’re arranging a party, not that we need another one. Don’t tell him I know about that.”

The only response that she received was a low grunt, and when Deborah glanced over her shoulder it was to see Archie hanging back wide opening between the kitchen and sitting room, hands buried in his pockets. He was giving them space…very generous of him considering that he had turned up unannounced.

Deborah wouldn’t normally make a habit of waiting for Martin to get through the door as if she had desperately been anticipating his return, but with her headache and exhaustion, and the oddly fresh sense of stress settling on her shoulders, she couldn’t think of anything she’d like more than to fall into his arms. Fortunately, Martin _did_ make a habit of shuffling through the front door just as he was in that moment, whatever the weather, a relieved smile on his face as he arrived home and turned his head this way and that, calling out for her.

“Deborah!” Martin exclaimed when his eyes fell upon her, cheeks flushed from the cold outside, but a smile wide and bright on his lips; he was dripping from every crease in his coat, but that didn’t stop Deborah from moving hastily to him and throwing her arms around his shoulders, cherishing the little oomph and stumble that such an action produced.

“Since when do people call you Deborah?” she heard Archie muttered from somewhere behind her, but Deborah paid him no notice.

It was far more pleasant to sink into Martin’s hold and enjoy the steady arm around her waist, and the hand rubbing small circles on her back as she tucked her cheek against his; Martin would tease her later, but that was alright, she supposed. If she closed her eyes now, she could fall asleep…that wasn’t really an option though.

“Martin, darling…” Deborah drawled, pressing a kiss to his cheek and raising her voice just enough that Archie would hear and realise that they were happy; then she lifted her lips to Martin’s ear, as he fidgeted in confusion against her, and whispered, “My brother’s here; turned up out of the blue.”

“Wh-what?” Martin spluttered, leaning back with wide eyes, mouth agape; his eyes wandered over her shoulder, and then snapped back to hers, and he flushed with horror, hands clenching at her back as he shook his head desperately, chest shuddering with panic, “What am I supposed to say – what do I do?”

“Just be yourself.” Deborah assured him, stepping back and extricating herself from his grasp; she couldn’t help but smile at the visceral terror on his face that he would never have allowed himself to display on the flight-deck.

“B-but what if he hates me?” Martin hissed, loud enough that Archie must have heard it, even though Martin leant down to close the gap between them; he hadn’t taken that into consideration when parading her in front of _his_ family.

“ _Well_ , I think I’d forgive you.” Deborah remarked, feigning a pout as Martin frowned at her; in all fairness, he _had_ to stand on his own two feet, or Archie would never take him seriously, “You don’t need to impress him; if he doesn’t like you, then he’s free to leave us be.”

“Right- okay.” Martin exhaled slowly, raggedly almost, and flattened out his jacket with his hands, rolling his shoulders back as if he were about to face a beast; Deborah took the chance to slip the damp coat from his back when he strode past her and held his hand out to Archie’s vigilant form, tilting his nose up as if he were balancing a lemon on the end, “Hello – I’m Marti-Captain Martin Crieff…hello.”

“You’re the _captain_ are you? _Golly_ …” Archie drawled, eyeing Martin as if he were something wriggly from inside a zoo, the sort that performed when poked; while Deborah hung Martin’s coat over the back of the door, he walked into the room to meet Martin, and took his hand in what must have been a tight grasp given the wince that Martin produced, “Archie Richardson; pleased to meet you at last.”

“I’ll go and put the kettle on.” Deborah declared airily; she brushed her hand down Martin’s upper arm as she passed, and turned on her heel, “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

With no intention of actually making drinks, Deborah walked as far into the kitchen as it took for her to duck behind the slight wall jutting out to separate it from the sitting room; from there she could lean against the wall, and watch Martin and Archie interact without the hindrance of her presence dampening their conversation. It promised to be far less exhausting than trying to decipher their facades had they known that she was there.

“So um…how, um, h-how was your trip down here?” Martin stuttered, rocking on his heels and rubbing at the back of his neck, which was as red as his ruffled hair; perhaps it had been cruel to leave him alone with Archie without warning, “I mean, I uh – sorry, I don’t even know where you live-”

“Tell me a bit about yourself Martin?” Archie instructed sharply, ignoring the olive branch that was being extended for the sake of fixing him with a glare; it was more of an instruction really, that much was obvious, except it seemed to Martin.

“I’m sorry?” Martin replied, blinking abashedly; it was enough to halt his jittering at the very least.

“Tell me a bit about yourself.” Archie repeated, employing all of the gravity he had developed with age, and that Deborah had seen him unleash on unsuspecting, and often terrified, apprentices; if she hadn’t wanted to see what Martin did, she would have stepped in, “Debbie told me a bit, years and years ago, but it sounded like you used to really upset her, and when we spoke around a year ago, she sounded really, _really_ miserable.”

“Well, um…yes, we, uh, w-we didn’t along too well at first,” Martin admitted, doing his best to keep his chin up and look Archie in the eye; it was painful to watch, but Deborah had faith in him…she even thought that he might have been smiling, just as she was, at the memory of them biting each other’s heads off, “but we, we fixed that and we’re friends now, _more_ than friends-”

“And the more recent bout of misery?” Archie inquired tersely, folding his arms and standing taller than Martin could ever hope to; he had some nerve, playing the protective older brother when he barely made the effort to call once in a while.

“Oh, um, that _was_ my fault actually – we…” Martin stammered, winding his hands together at his front; he seemed wary of stepping too close to Archie, and the space between them was almost tangibly taut, “We were fighting, and then I was in Switzerland-”

“So you fight?” Archie asked, quirking his eyebrows as if it were a surprise; he knew full well that Deborah argued with anyone she spent more than a week with, but Martin didn’t know that he knew that, “Why should I believe that you’re good for my sister when you’ve made her miserable before?”

“Because we’re together now –a-a-and we’re getting married.” Martin insisted, shaking his head and opening and closing his mouth; his cheeks were turning steadily redder, and his brow was furrowing, the lines forming the precipice between frustration and defensiveness, “I love Deborah, i-isn’t that enough.”

“Hmmmm….tell me about yourself, Martin.” Archie said again, and stance became that little bit more intimidating, “Convince me that you’re good enough for my sister. I’ve sat back and watched her marry two men that were good for nothing even though she thought they were perfect – prove to me that you’re good enough.”

Deborah could have slapped him; the damn bugger was actually trying to threaten her fiancé…that was hilarious. In fact, Deborah couldn’t keep the smirk from her face; Martin might have seemed pathetic, and a little wet at times, but he was a firework under pressure.

“I-I-I…I don’t…No.” Martin stuck his chin out and clenched his hands at his sides; the stammering didn’t cease, but he held Archie’s gaze without a trace of shame, “No, I won’t prove anything to you. This is _my_ home, a-and Deborah wants to marry me, and I wouldn’t have asked her to if I thought I wasn’t good enough – that was the whole reason we split up in the first place. I’m not going to stand here and defend myself when I’ve never even met you before! I’m a _Captain_!”

“I _see_ …” Archie drawled, narrowing his eyes at Martin, giving him a demonstrative once over; Martin might not have known what to look for, but Deborah could hear the edge to his tone that proved that he was impressed, despite his next words, “You and Debbie fight a lot, do you Martin?”

“Yes – I mean, we don’t, I-I-I…we bicker, and we argue – but that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.” Martin cleared his throat awkwardly, and glanced towards the kitchen so quickly that Deborah had to duck back behind the wall, “That’s just what we do.”

“But I assume you’ve been working on _not_ fighting?” Archie asked, nodding as if to encourage Martin to answer correctly; he raised one hand over his folded arms and pressed it to the bottom of his chin, “On working through your differences.”

“No.” Martin replied shortly; he didn’t even seem to notice the odd silence that fell over the room. Deborah had never been prouder of him; no one ever struck her brother speechless – ever.

“What do you mean _no_?” Archie retorted when he was able to stir up a response at all; his cool façade was gone, and he was staring at Martin with barely concealed confusion so great that he almost looked insulted, “You just said you love each other.”

“Yes. We love each other, and we argue.” Martin explained matter-of-factly; as if he saw that he held the high-ground, Martin rolled his shoulders back and breathed a sigh of, not quite relief, but of settling, “That’s what we do – that’s been how we work since the moment we met…ou-our whole relationship is built on the fact that we have our differences.”

“How are you going to sustain a marriage if you can’t get over your differences?” Archie demanded, his voice straining under the effort of losing his hoarse drawl; it was fantastic, watching him lose his composure, “You can’t honestly want to spend the rest of your life bickering.”

“I do!” Martin insisted; he spoke just as he did when failing to impress a passenger, “I-I-it took a while, but we…it doesn’t matter that we bicker or fight, because we – even though she does and says things that I really disagree with, I love her. A-and I like to think that even though I annoy her, she loves me anyway. W-we don’t need to get over our differences, because we learnt how to accept them. If we stopped fighting, we wouldn’t be us anymore.”

“So you _like_ fighting with her?” Archie asked, scrunching his nose up as he stared at Martin; he had no idea what to make of him…absolutely wonderful. Deborah would be making sure that Martin understood _exactly_ how grateful she was.

“Uh…yes and no…” Martin let out a nervous laugh, and bit down on his bottom lip; he could do nothing more than shrug, “I don’t have to answer that.”

There was a moment, one that stretched out just a bit too long…Deborah considered entering the room and cutting between the men, to try and ease the tension; Martin wasn’t that good when confronted. But then the tension seemed to evaporate, with only a sigh and the subtle shifting of Archie’s shoulders.

“You’re a bit odd…” Archie remarked lightly, eyeing Martin as if he were some sort of poisonous reptile, with a mixture of nerves and respect; he unravelled his arms and slipped his hands into his pockets, “Did you know that?”

“I-I’ve been called worse…” Martin chuckled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck; the jittering started up again, and he was still blushing furiously, but he was smiling, which was a good sign, “By Deborah…”

“No that’s good.” Archie interrupted him, smiling apologetically; it was starting to get worrying now, “Debbie needs someone…she’s a bit odd too.”

It was then that Deborah decided it would be pertinent to step in, and to break up whatever strange camaraderie they were starting up; the last thing she wanted was for her brother to start telling Martin all sorts of things about her that she had very deliberately been feeding him piece by piece.

oOoOoOo

After his unexpected arrival, Archie had declared that he would be staying in a bed and breakfast in Fitton until after the wedding; he said it was so that he could help Deborah prepare, but she knew it was just so that he could interfere. It didn’t matter though. As an early wedding present, Carolyn had booked lots of flights to fill their time; she had been shocked when Deborah had grinned at the wall chart, thrilled to see that there were only a limited amount of days that Archie could use to harass her about dresses.

Besides, Deborah couldn’t think of a single place in the world that Martin would rather spend the weeks leading up to his wedding than GERTI’s flight-deck; he must have been rubbing off on her, as Deborah was actually happy to lounge about in their uncomfortable seats so long as he allowed her to sneak a few kisses…among other things.

“And finally, thank you for choosing MJN to fly you to Sas-kat-che-wan.” Martin spoke as clearly as he could into the intercom, leaning over the control panel as he held the flight-plan in front of his nose; it was an adorable sight, and the warmth in her chest sent little sparks of inspiration whirling through her head. There was always time to tease him.

“Alright Martin, new game.” Deborah announced cheerfully when Martin had flicked the switch for the intercom, and the tinny crackle had been replaced by the low humming of the engines, “You’ll like this one-”

“Why is everyone suddenly picking holes in our relationship?” Martin demanded, slumping back in his seat and pouting, pushing his hat more securely onto his head; he hadn’t seemed frustrated before, and the shift was sudden, “I mean first my family, then your brother…even Carolyn keeps sending us sideways glances. The only person that still thinks we’re brilliant is Arthur.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Deborah remarked flippantly, dismissing his concern out of hand with a small smile; she knew exactly what he meant, but she didn’t want him to dwell, not when dwelling often meant drowning in Martin’s case, “Wait until the wedding, and then shove our happiness in their faces.”

“Fair enough, I guess…” Martin grumbled, his throat bobbing as he pouted; there was no doubt that he would be bringing the matter up every few days until the wedding, “What was your game?”

“Places with names that are difficult to pronounce.” Deborah replied, settling back and crossing one leg over the other; she smiled warmly, deliberately avoiding any sense of nonchalance. To her relief, Martin returned the gesture, although he traced the tips of his fingers around the end of the arm of his seat, playing with the rusting buttons.

“Oh, I see…alright…um…” Martin hummed thoughtfully; it was just like it had always been…fun, lovely, familiar, and easy to win and enjoy.

“Tbilisi for example.” Deborah suggested, taking her eyes from Martin’s face to stare out into the sky; it wouldn’t do to look too smug so early in the game.

“Good.” Martin acknowledged, nodding and pouting as he played along; he scrunched up his nose as he grasped desperately for something, eyes flickering desperately from side to side, “Um…”

“Or Sioux Falls.” Deborah added, smirking and fighting the temptation to sneak too long a peek at him across the gap between them; too easy, far too easy, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Wow, well done.” Martin remarked, irritation only beginning to seep into his tone; his eyes lit up with a wicked glint, and he turned to address her excitedly, “Um…oh, I’ve got one – uh, F…see, what you’ve done here is invented a game where I _can’t_ answer even if I knew how.”

“Can’t you pronounce the names?” Deborah teased, fluttering her eyelashes at him; he had worked out the crux of her game far more quickly than he normally did.

“You know I can’t.” Martin retorted shortly, fixing her with a pointed glare; it was cute, really, although Deborah wouldn’t admit it. He could pretend to be annoyed all he liked; he loved it.

“Montpellier.” Deborah provided, in lieu of a response; she smirked and held his gaze, keeping one eye on the controls as they clicked fitfully in the background.

“Hold on, give me a chance…” Martin whined, jerking back into his seat and rubbing his hands together; she didn’t have to wait long though, as his expression lit up and he practically jumped where he sat, hands flapping at his sides, “Oh, I’ve got it! Reykjavik!”

If they could do this forever, Deborah mused, then she might just be able to go to her grave feeling that she had lived a good life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Never in a million years had Deborah actually thought that she would be doing this again. It didn’t even feel like _again_ , not really; no, this time, it felt like it she was doing it properly, the _right_ way, and for good. There was no turning back now…it was a happy day.

It was overwhelming. Deborah could barely breathe, or think; too many thoughts, and too many feelings, and too many people prodding and poking at her, from the moment that she had woken up. The one thing that she couldn’t cope with was being overwhelmed. Deborah liked to know what was going on, to be in control; being overwhelmed was like drowning in a lake made of sickly sweet joy and sour panic and nerves that jittered in her stomach, and too many people sticking bloody pins in her sides because they wouldn’t just leave her alone.

Up until today, Deborah had been on top of things. They had the nicest, and only church in Fitton, which Martin had loved. They didn’t waste money on things like flowers, because they’d be dead within a few days. Check and check. Dresses bought, guests arrived, suits in the men’s cupboards, everything in place, just fine, no problems whatsoever.

Now, in the cleanest hotel that Fitton had to offer, in which they had lodged all of the wedding party, Deborah couldn’t stop her fingers from curling into her palms, shuddering with nerves. The room was lovely, and peaceful…or it would have been, had Wendy not been tittering about, or if Archie would get his hands off of her dress and stop making last minute adjustments. He hadn’t even been put off when Deborah had noted with a lack of tact that he was too old to be hobbling around dresses.

“Will you stop shaking already.” Archie instructed, slapping away Deborah’s hands as she tried to wrap her arms around her chest; he was kneeling by the hem of her dress, just as he had years before, with pins held securely between his lips as he tried to hem the white material that fell around her knees, “What is wrong with you?”

“It’s my wedding day.” Deborah muttered, unable to muster up much else in case the pounding in her chest decided to leap up her throat; no matter how proud she was of her hair, simply tied back making the most of the imperceptibly waves that had formed with length, she made no effort to stay still, or to refrain from shaking her head, “I’m nervous.”

“Why?” Archie retorted, rising to his feet and patting down his hands as if he had been doing some sort of manual labour, “You never were before.”

“Can you just stop fussing and go away, please?” Deborah asked wanly, letting her gaze drop to the floor so that he didn’t feel the need to carry the conversation; it was hard to tell whether she was exhausted, or buzzing with energy, “The dress is fine, I’m fine; now leave me alone until the ceremony starts.”

“Fine, there.” Archie ignored her completely, and stepped forwards to adjust the lay of her sleeves, successfully avoiding her hands as Deborah leaned away and tried to thwack him for his efforts, “I couldn’t get it better if I tried. Now-”

“Now leave me alone.” Deborah interrupted, flinging her arm out to point to the door; she’d be fine, once she had some peace and quiet, and could get her thoughts in order. They didn’t need ordering, she knew what she wanted, but everything was too loud, and to bright, and maybe a nap would help.

“You don’t want to chat?” Archie inquired, as he hooked his thumbs into his pockets and rocked on his heels; he was deliberately ignoring her now, that much was for sure, making her life more difficult just because he could, “Run things over with me?”

“No.” Deborah replied shortly, far from the sort of mood that might help her muster up a decent retort; she wrapped her arms around her waist, trying not to wince as the soft material of her dress brushed against the inside of her elbow, like a feathery prickle that reminded her of how important it was, “Go away.”

“Fine; have it your way.” Archie grumbled, frowning as if he had been the one inconvenienced; he strode towards the door, taking his time in turning the knob and pulling it open, shifting into the space created in its wake, “I’ll be back later, ready to walk you down the aisle. Don’t run away.”

The moment that he was gone, and Deborah tried to inhale a breath of air to calm herself, Wendy took his place in front of her; she was dressed smartly, and perfectly made up for the sort of event that she so rarely got to attend. She was also becoming something of a hindrance.

“Oh, don’t worry about him dear.” Wendy tittered, tracing the tips of her fingers down Deborah’s arms as if to map the lines of her sleeves; her smile hadn’t faltered from the moment that she had arrived in Deborah’s room, “You look beautiful, and everything’s going to be just fine. I’m so thrilled for you!”

“Thank you…um…Wendy…wouldn’t you rather be spending time with your son right now?” Deborah suggested, fully aware of how tired her voice sounded as she took a small step back, deliberately increasing the space between them; she continued trying to tuck herself into as compact an area of space as possible, without appearing too obvious, “He probably needs you more than I do.”

“He’s got the boys for that-” Wendy remarked dismissively, batting her hand through the air; she didn’t seem to understand the noisy mess that Deborah was contending with in that moment.

“But surely he’d like his mother as well.” Deborah persisted, nodding towards the door; she even went so far as to turn until she was facing it, as if by some slim chance that might help her win her battle, “I…I could really use a few minutes alone, please.”

“Only if you’re sure.” Wendy replied, winding her hands together; to her credit though, she did step back, and survey Deborah with sympathetic eyes, as if she were finally twigging what she was being asked, “I don’t want you to think that-”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall closed as she bit down on her lip, one last act to keep herself from doubling over and exploding; then she opened her eyes, and plastered on a smile, reminding herself that just because _she_ knew that she was happy, didn’t mean that everyone else didn’t need convincing, “I just need a bit of silence. Go and see Martin…I’m sure he’d be pleased to see you, and is driving the boys insane as we speak.”

“Alright dear.” Wendy agreed solemnly; with one last press of her hands to Deborah’s arms, she stood back and smiled serenely, “Good luck…I’ll see you in a little while.”

Deborah didn’t watch her leave, but she heard the door click shut as she walked to the edge of the bed and lowered herself onto it. It took less than a moment for her elbows to reach her knees, and her head to drop into her hands; the press of her palms against her eyelids was like a balm, easing out the rabble and injecting a little bit of freshness into her psyche. Deborah was happy, but she was bloody well overwhelmed…she would be glad when this was all over, for more reasons than one.

Then, as if Deborah hadn’t endured enough people, an uncertain knocking punctuated the air; the rapping didn’t stop, even when she stared at the door, praying that it would burst into flames.

“Who is it?” Deborah demanded, raising her voice so that it would be heard from the hall, “What do you want?”

“ _It’s me…Martin…”_ Martin’s voice rattled through the thin wood of the door, and Deborah was on her feet and leaning sideways against it, hand and cheek pressed against the wood before she even knew that she had moved; he was the _one person_ that she wanted to see today, and even though the storm clouds in her stomach didn’t leave, his voice was like a match, lighting up the familiar moths in her chest with his clumsy words, “ _Hi…Are you in your dress?”_

“Of course I’m in my dress.” Deborah scoffed, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against the door, letting the loose locks of her hair brush against her cheek; oddly, she couldn’t help but feel…embarrassed…almost as if she might be blushing, though such an idea was ridiculous, “Martin, what are you doing here?”

“ _I snuck away from Simon and Arthur, a-and then from Mum, when I saw her leaving_.” Martin explained; it was strange, talking to him like this, “ _I wanted to talk to you before the ceremony.”_

“You’re being _sneaky_.” Deborah drawled, smiling despite herself, stupidly; _god_ she was nervous, or excited, she didn’t know; whatever it was, it was making her feel about twelve years old, despite the flash of familiar fondness that was most definitely adult, “Oh, darling, you know I love it when you’re sneaky.”

“ _I know you do_.” Martin remarked, sounding far too proud of himself, “ _Is there any way that I can come in without seeing the dress; i-it’s just that it’s bad luck, but we, uh, we sort of need to be in the same room, a-and I’m afraid if I stay out here someone might see me_.”

“Alright, hold on.” Deborah instructed, pushing away from the door to scurry back into her room and dig out the stupidly long coat that Archie had brought with him; it would do, she mused as she hooked it over her shoulders, and if it didn’t, then Martin would have to endure, because if there was one person that she needed to see in that moment, it was him, “Come in.”

Her back was still turned when the door swung open, and Martin’s thudding footfalls hurried inside; that didn’t mean that Deborah couldn’t imagine him slamming the door and then standing back against it, cheeks flushed as he congratulated himself on pulling off such a feat of sneakiness. When Deborah whirled on her heel, she found herself stopping, unable to take another step forwards for a moment as she took him in; Martin, in a smart suit, all neat and tidy as he couldn’t stand it another way, ginger hair combed as best he could without making a lick of a difference, and a wide smile on his face, while his eyes…

“Hi…” Martin let out a low breath, as he drew his bottom lip through his teeth, for once lost for words; there was a light in his eyes, dampened somewhat by the tears that seemed to well up without him noticing…he had never looked more beautiful, Deborah thought, but then again…she didn’t think that she had ever seen him so wonderstruck.

And he couldn’t even see her dress…she had no idea what could be going through his mind, but it was probably something suitably soppy.

“Hello…don’t you look handsome?” Deborah felt the warm smile brighten her face and clear the fuss from her chest, as she moved towards him; Martin mirrored her movements, and with a little effort she was able to run her fingers down the lapels of his jacket, and straighten his tie for him, wondering why he hadn’t succumbed and worn his Captain’s hat as he had been threatening to do for weeks, “You know, we’re supposed to meet up later, when the boring old man talks at us and we sign the forms.”

“Yes, I know, of course, b-but I…I wanted to talk to you.” Martin replied, his voice low and thick with something that Deborah couldn’t put her finger on; his hands wandered up to curl around the back of hers, and he lowered them between the two of them, the movement making it ever more clear that he was shaking more than she ever had been, “I-I’ve been thinking, for days, and days, a-and I-I-I’ve finally been able to get something straight in my head, without a piece of paper.”

“I thought you’d been tossing and turning.” Deborah remarked, casting her mind back to the nights that Martin had almost leapt out of bed, muttering to himself; out of respect, she hadn’t asked at the time, as it seemed, quite correctly, to be the preclude to one of his convoluted schemes, “What is it?”

“Well, y-you know how we decided that we weren’t doing personalised vows.” Martin stammered, gripping her hands and swinging them in the few inches left between them, his blue eyes following the movement, “B-because we didn’t think that we could, a-and because it’s embarrassing, a-and…”

“And because writing a grandiose speech for the sake of a group of people that we only invited to be polite sounds painful.” Deborah finished for him, earning herself a truncated sort of chuckle that sounded more like a squeak, “Yes, I remember.”

“Right, well…I want to do that.” Martin explained, concisely at first; he said it with a sort of certainty, with a furrowing of his brow and a crinkling of the bridge of his nose that negated the way that his hands were shaking, “Not the public vows! I’d probably just pass out, a-and hit my head, o-or embarrass you. B-but I want to do the speech – o-or to tell you…this might be the only chance I get to tell you exactly how I feel, beyond loving you, without having to worry about it seeming fake, or forced, o-or…I want it to be _ours_ , and just for us.”

“You…you want to do vows? Now?” Deborah repeated, slowly, taking her eyes from Martin’s face so that she could cast her gaze around the bare room; the noise was gone, replaced by a soothing hum, but the moths in her chest were raging, and clenching at her lungs, and when she looked back into Martin’s eyes, she was almost bowled over by the determination that she found, “We haven’t prepared anything, Martin, we-”

“Exactly, it’ll be straight from the heart.” Martin insisted, nodding hastily as if to cement his point; he lifted one hand, dragging Deborah’s with it to run his fingers through the loose strands of her hair and push them behind her ear, “And probably a bit rambly, but I want you to know – you don’t have to say anything back-”

“No, that’s…that’s okay.” Deborah cut him off, and grasped his hands tightly, lowering them back down between the two of them; she smiled as she blinked up at him, inhaling sharply and forcing herself to remember that she was good, she could roll with the punches, even if it felt like one perfectly romantic punch to the gut, “Martin, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah…I’m fine.” Martin was practically trembling as he spoke, and shifted his weight between his feet, keeping his head ducked down as if looking at her for too long might blind him more than the burning in his cheeks was blinding her, “It’s just, I-I’ve been thinking so much lately, a-and it hit me last night that…that the ceremony and the forms, that’s the official wedding, b-but…but the important bit, that’s the bit where we’re completely open with each other and commit to being together forever…and I want to do that alone with you, not in front of everyone, a-and I-I-I-I-”

“Okay, we’ll do that.” Deborah assured him, calmly, soothingly, lifting their joined hands to brush against the outside of his arms before shifting closer; just close enough that their noses brushed, and she could say before she leaned back, “Just…breathe.”

Breathe Martin did, over and over again, each time more deeply, more calmly; on the fourth go, as Deborah eyed him warily, prepared to escort him outside for his own safety, his lips tugged into a smile, which shattered under the impact of his nerves, as he lifted his hand to push the back of his sleeve over the bottom of his face.

Then he stilled, and Deborah stilled, and she could have sworn as Martin’s eyes bored into hers with his captain-like determination, that the only thing anchoring her to the world was the sensation of his palms, sweaty and hot against hers, gripping so tightly that it stung.

“I-I don't know if I'll be able to say this in front of other people - not because I don't mean it, or because I don't want them to know,” Martin stuttered, but he kept talking, like a train without brakes, “but because I...I really think that you're the only person I trust to hear this sort of thing, from me.”

“I love you so much, a-and I want you to be my wife...b-because of a thousand reasons, most of which are about you...” the words kept coming, and Deborah could only press her lips together and fight the hot prickle at the back of her eyes as Martin’s voice grew imperceptibly stronger, while disintegrating all the same, “but there's a couple that are the most important, a-and I want you to know them, before we do this, b-because I want you to know exactly what you mean to me, and exactly h-h...h-how much I love you.”

“Y-y-you...you are...everything to me...and I mean that, completely sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. I-I-I've been thinking about how to say this, in words, a-and this is all I've got...so I hope it's okay.” Martin stammered to a pause, and waited for Deborah’s little nod, before ploughing onwards, red rings appearing under his eyes as his voice turned shrill, “It's like, everything in my life, i-it's been moving around too fast, and nothing ever stays still, l-like I can barely keep hold of my CPL, o-or my job, o-or my rank, a-and Icarus and living at Parkside - everything has just been one big blur of things that I can't keep hold of.”

“A-a-and then there's you, a-and you're like, the one thing in my life that's staying still, and that I can properly focus on - I-I-I should have seen it, because even when we first met, and we weren't, w-we perhaps weren't great - i-it was still like you were always there, and always stable, l-l-like a solid thing that was definite in my life, w-waiting at work,” Martin choked up, and his hands flexed around Deborah’s but that was good, because it covered up the choked sound that she made, as she tried to swallow the burning lump in her throat, “a-and we'd play, o-or we'd argue, b-but you'd always be there, a-and I'd try not to stare at you b-because you were so beautiful, a-and so clever, a-and funny...a-and  you're like the one certainty in my whole life. Everything else could fall through, but even when we were falling apart, you were still there.”

“Deborah...I love you, and I want to have you in my life every day, for the rest of my life - m-more than that, I-I want to be there for you, a-and I want...I don't just want us to be there, I want to be together, completely,” Martin extended his arms, swinging the both of theirs in a way as if to demonstrate just how connected they were, “so that even if things go really wrong, we're a team, and a unit...and I want to be able to say - here is my wife, isn't she wonderful, she loves me and I love her and we're very happy together…”

“D-d'you...is that...does that make sense?” Martin concluded in his typical fashion, trailing off, peering hopefully into her eyes, lip between his teeth, cheeks flushed scarlet; he was still trembling, but Deborah hardly noticed as her hands were shaking so much, and her lips were shuddering, and she didn’t think that she could contain the rush of emotion that was flooding her chest, burning behind her eyes, telling her to lurch forwards and fall into Martin a thousand times over, and mess up his suit while she was at it.

“Yeah...yes...I love you too...Martin I...I can do this too.” Deborah tried to maintain some semblance of calm, but her voice was thin and lighter than it had ever been, and she knew that she was on the verge of tears; she loved him so much, nothing could ever, _ever_ break her from the giddy trance that had her laughing, and wringing her hands around Martin’s as he grinned down at her, bashful and shivering, “You'll like this…I haven't had all the practice that you did.”

Play it cool, make a joke, be the self-deprecating one for a change. Martin would like that…Martin liked _her_ …completely and honestly, he really did; god only knew why.

“You...do you remember how, a while ago….you said that, perhaps the reason all my attempts at happiness up until you had failed, was because we were meant to be together?” Deborah asked, and waited for Martin’s eyes to narrow, and for him to nod, eyebrows knitting adorably; then she let go of the reigns, and just spoke, because there was nothing else that she could do, “Because...I've been thinking, lately, that maybe you were right...Martin, I can honestly say that you...you make me the happiest that I have ever been in my life. The only thing that comes close to being with you, was having my daughter, and even then...thinking about Verity is often more painful than anything else.”

“I...I really do think that we were meant to be together, and...because we fit, and there's something about you that has made me happy...and I think I've got my head around why...because you're funny, and you're lovely, and lots of other things...but we have fun...” Deborah explained, as best as she could; she hadn’t even known that all of this was straight in her head, “I have never been happier, because I don't think I've ever had so much fun as when I'm with you, and I...I love you for that.”

“And I think...I think the reason that nothing worked before, is because I lost sight of what I actually wanted, which was to have fun...I got so caught up in trying to be the best, and to be respected, and to slot in all of the components that made a good life, that although I got the respect I wanted, and I sort of enjoyed the smuggling, and the drinking...” she trailed off, and watched Martin’s reaction; he nodded, and smiled, and leaned in just enough that though their hands were still joined, his arms were tucked just around hers, as if to tell her that everything was forgiven, or that he just didn’t care, which was more likely, “I stopped having fun, and it all became about impressing people, and one upping them, and succeeding.”

“Then you turned up, and even though you were, and still sort of are, a pernicious arse...” at this Martin snorted indignantly, but he was laughing, and Deborah wouldn’t have stopped even if he had asked her to, “for the first time since...since before I can remember, you actually gave me the chance to have fun, and to enjoy myself, and even those first few flights when we barely talked and I was trying to figure you out...I have never had so much fun with anyone in my life, as I have with you.”

“You are like...you're like a shining light in the middle of a lot of misery...” Deborah choked then, but she forced herself to carry on, even though her voice was shattering into broken reeds, and she was so close to closing her eyes and crying, “and you know I love you so much that I'd let you run far away to try and do better with your life, even though it might well have killed what was left of me. I love you so much, a-and I don't want to go a single day without you in it.”

Deborah’s voice broke, but she barely had time to take a breath. Martin was gone from her line of vision, and all that she could see was complete darkness as he thudded into her, wrapping his arms around her back, pulling her in, squeezing tightly.

Deborah extracted her arms from his chest, dragging in shuddering breaths as she curled them around his shoulders and pressed her nose against the crook of his neck, just under his ear, and let herself be suffocated by the solid weights around her waist, the warm pressure turning circles at her back, the rough scratch of his collar against her cheek as she inhaled the sharp scent of his cologne…all of it catering to the lurching _need_ in her chest that was digging like an animal to get out, to be closer to the shaking, heaving heat of Martin’s as he inhaled raggedly, blowing little breaths through his nose into her hair.

And they were rocking, of that much Deborah was sure, as the burning in her eyes died down, and she squeezed Martin tighter, and held on, and just cherished being held, rocking and lulling and completely…the ceremony might be fun, but nothing, not the signing of the register, or the vicar…not one single moment would feel as perfect, none of it would bring them as close together as they were now.

Martin did have a good idea every now and then.

“You know…I remember the first time we did this.” Deborah murmured, when the desperation waned, and all that was left was the sweet rocking, and the loosening of holds, and she could lay her cheek on Martin’s shoulder and lean back just enough to make eye contact, “Hugging, I mean.”

“What?” Martin retorted blearily, blinking as if emerging from a dream; his hand was still turning circles on her back through the thick coat, “I-I-I can’t remember…when was that?”

“It was ages and ages ago.” Deborah remarked lazily, smiling effortlessly as she set her mind back; the memory sent the same dizzy rush of moths fluttering through her chest as it had done at the time, all new and shiny, “I think someone had driven into my car.”

“Are you sure?” Martin asked, scrunching his nose up; of course, he had to disagree, have a different, _wrong_ set of memories, “You’re sure it wasn’t that time you nearly killed us all and then I shouted at you?”

“No, that was afterwards…years later, actually.” Deborah corrected him, shaking her head and pursing her lips; now _that_ was an event that she had tried to forget, and why Martin had chosen to hold onto it was beyond her, “It was definitely when I came back from the hospital…I remember thinking it was odd because you were supposed to hate me.”

Martin only hummed and dropped his chin back down to rest against the side of her head; Deborah felt his hand come up to play with her hair, and only just stopped herself from scolding him for messing up the lacklustre arrangement. It was nice…it couldn’t last…the swinging open of the door was enough to prove that.

It had completely left her mind that she had given Arthur the spare key to her room.

“Skip!” Arthur exclaimed, as he strode into the room, looking tidier than he ever had before in a suit only just duller than Martin’s; for once his responses were quicker than theirs, as he looked between them like misbehaving children, “You’re not meant to be in here!”

“Oh, god, sorry.” Martin leapt back, tripping slightly as he unwound his arms from around Deborah and straightened his suit, hands raised all the time as if in surrender; he made a move as if to run away, but stumbled on his heels as he turned and met Deborah’s gaze, “I’ll um…I’ll just, I-I-I’ll just…go then…”

“I’ll see you in a minute.” Deborah nodded, knowing exactly what he was thinking as he nodded hastily and hurried from the room, leaving the door wide open behind him; the next time they saw each other, they would be getting married. Not a _big_ deal…

“Are you alright?” Arthur’s voice came as if through a haze, and when Deborah looked up, she realised that she had been staring at the open door, arms curling around her chest; Arthur came to stand beside her, bending slightly so that he could look into her eyes, “Is…is crying something you’re supposed to do on your wedding day? I don’t think it is.”

“It’s alright.” Deborah assured him, though her voice was still weak, and she thought that he looked more worried than anything else, hands flying into the air as if to catch her should she topple sideways; she didn’t quite know what to do with herself now, “Happy tears, that’s what they are.”

“Oh, okay…do you want a hug?” Arthur offered, only to squawk in surprise when Deborah nodded, choked quite loudly, and then almost toppled into his arms; she pressed her hand over her eyes, but that didn’t seem to be enough, as Arthur grew more panicked, “Oh, no! Please don’t cry, this is a happy day!”

Oh dear…delayed reaction, Deborah’s mind so helpfully supplied; smiled for Martin, and his romantic speech, now the meaning of it was actually hitting home…painfully…wonderfully…it was all fine…

“Hey, Arthur…” Deborah stepped back and out of Arthur’s hold, and pushed her thumbs underneath her eyes, brushing away the tears that had managed to escape; her lips were trembling, and she was trembling, and he voice could have been made of glass, but she knew what to do, “Could _you_ walk me down the aisle please. I’d like that…”

“I thought your brother was-” Arthur replied, helpful as always, reminding her of what he must have assumed that she had forgotten.

“Can you please?” Deborah interrupted, wincing at how near to begging she was; she couldn’t be like this when the ceremony started, that would be awful, “I, I…I need to hold someone’s hand, and…if…if I’m holding anyone’s hand, I’d really rather it was yours.”

“Okay…” Arthur promised, slowly, as he lifted his hand to rest on Deborah’s shoulder; the poor boy didn’t need this kind of thing to deal with, not in the least, “I’ll have to tell Skip; I’m his best man-”

“You can walk with me then stand next to him; it’s fine.” Deborah replied dismissively, shaking her head and batting her hands through the air as she turned away from him and strode to the side of the bed, so that she could rifle through her suitcase for something that she hadn’t decided on yet, “Just, um, just run and let him know, will you?”

“Righto!” Arthur chirped from behind her; she listened to his feet clatter to the door, and then into the hall, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

oOoOoOo

The ceremony was beautiful. That was what Deborah would tell herself, and everyone else, for years. It _felt_ beautiful. Never in her life had Deborah been filled with so much… _happiness_ …it felt as if she had been glowing out of every pore, radiant and shining like the sun, all because Martin had been looking at her as if she were a star in the sky. He was beautiful too, but the sort of beautiful that rebounds and makes everyone it falls on feel as if they could outmatch the moon.

Or perhaps Deborah had just been so very, truly happy, and the warmth had burst from her chest and burnt away any traces of tears of nerves.

In years to come, all that Deborah would remember, was how handsome Martin had looked, and the laughter. They hadn’t stopped laughing, from start to finish…it was the most fun she had ever had.

Deborah didn’t really remember walking down the aisle. All that she could focus on was how tightly she was gripping Arthur’s hand, because his winces were audible from a few inches away, Verity skipping along behind her, looking far more stunning than any twelve year old had a right to be, and Martin, whose mouth fell open when he laid eyes on her.

Martin blushed and stammered, and then made as if to take a step towards her…forgetting of course that where they were standing was on a raised step. The vicar caught him by the arm though, and Martin remained upright, and Deborah arrived by his side sniggering, her smirk refusing to budge as she slipped her hand into his.

“Oh, there seems to have been a change.” The vicar remarked brightly, glancing at Arthur, and then over his shoulder to where Deborah presumed that Archie was sitting; she didn’t care though, she was too busy mouthing at Martin, and receiving a gently elbow in her ribs, “Will you be giving this lady away?”

“I reckon she’s giving herself away actually.” Arthur replied, bewildered; his hand hovered around Deborah’s back, and he didn’t seem to notice the odd look that the vicar gave him, “I don’t own her.”

It made Martin snort though, and as Arthur scurried around behind them to arrange himself beside Martin, Deborah turned so that they were facing each other, and delivered her other hand into his. One look at the trembling of his lips, and she was giggling too as she caught his eyes, and she had to let go of his hand to raise the back of hers to her lips. Neither of them stopped giggling, but they managed well enough that only the front row noticed.

The talking took a while, and Deborah wasn’t really paying attention. Only the most important words managed to make an impression, and that was only because Martin twitched, and his eyes sharpened pointedly as if he were silently telling her to _pay attention_.

“Will you Deborah Alison…” the vicar rambled…ramble, ramble, ramble; he was saying a lot of things, and Deborah repeated them, but they weren’t all that important.

“I will.” Deborah replied on cue, smirking up at Martin; make it into a game, she thought, while the vicar said some more things, make it into a game and maybe he’ll trip up.

“Will you, Martin Raymond…” again, the vicar rambled, and Martin nodded along to every word as if he wasn’t turning Deborah’s fingers over against his, and watching her every move, blushing furiously and jittering on his heels.

“Yes – I mean, I will.” Martin exclaimed, grimacing as he got the words wrong, even as Deborah chuckled and nudged his wrist with hers; she would pay for distracting him later, but it was worth it for the giggles that it was providing now.

And then there was more talking that Deborah didn’t listen to, and more repeating what the vicar said. Deborah wasn’t sure what they had decided upon, but the one thing that did enter her consciousness was the fact that the vicar started every sentence with the words ‘Alright folks?’…Martin must have noticed too, because every time the vicar did just that, Martin drew his bottom lip between his teeth and glanced at the floor, and Deborah just knew that he was holding in a laugh.

Finally, the vicar finished talking, talking and talking without pause, and Arthur stepped forwards to put the rings in Martin’s hand. To everyone’s surprise, Deborah was sure, Martin didn’t drop them; he navigated them in his palms, giving one to her for later, and positioning his own between his fingers. When the instruction was given, he was ready to do as he was told, poised and perfect.

Martin lifted Deborah’s hand, her _right_ hand, so gently, lifting it and pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. She watched, feeling her lips curl upwards into the warm tingling that now formed her cheeks, and waited for him to correct himself…only he didn’t, and her smirk grew all the more, bubbling with the rush of affection that threatened to drown her as Martin brought the ring to the tip of her finger.

“Wrong hand, darling.” Deborah whispered, leaning in just as Martin leaned down, raising her left hand to trace her fingers against the opposite cheek; there was only so long that she could allow him to carry on, after all.

With a start, Martin straightened his back and stared at the hand that he was holding, then at the ring, then back at her hand. Then, his eyes trailed up to meet hers, and Deborah could _see_ the moment that he gave up completely, shoulders sagging, cheeks burning darker than they ever had, as his eyes snapped shut.

But Martin didn’t curse, or grimace, or do anything as he would have normally. Instead, as if by some miracle, he stumbled forwards and pressed his forehead against Deborah’s, his free hand wrapping around her back as the one holding the ring grasped desperately for her left, which she gracefully supplied.

Then they were laughing…giggling actually, quietly, faintly, but the sniggers were there. Deborah, because it was _always_ a time to tease him, and Martin because there had to come a moment in every man’s life that he looked at himself and realised that he was ridiculous. Deborah had never been happier; she could only grip the collar of Martin’s suit with her free hand, refraining from pulling him into an embrace, as they collected themselves.

“Oh god…can we take a minute?” Martin groaned, raising his voice just loud enough that the vicar might have been able to hear him; it was wonderful to hear him like that, joking, calm, absolutely ridiculous, but so perfect, “Just a break…people can get coffee, we’ll do this bit while they’re gone.”

“I’m game if you are.” Deborah sniggered, and with that she tipped her head down and pressed a kiss to his lips; it was brief, but fun, and she couldn’t help but laugh again…oh, this wasn’t going to plan at all.

“No, no, come on.” Martin told her, pulling back enough that he could push a hand through his hair; he made an effort to clear his throat and school his expression, but the effect was barely noticeable, “We’re good – carry on.”

oOoOoOo

With the wedding ceremony over, all that was left to do was to enjoy the reception; or at least, what Martin had decided constituted a reception, with tables and music in the background and catering…how he had pulled it all together, Deborah didn’t want to know. All that mattered was that while the other guests milled around, she and Martin could sit at a table with Carolyn and Herc, and Arthur when he returned from wherever he had gone.

“Really, the both of you.” Herc told them, smiling serenely; although he had an arm slung across the back of Carolyn’s chair, he was careful not to appear too affectionate as he leaned across the table to emphasise just how pleased he was with the two of them, “Congratulations. I’m very proud of you.”

“Oh, please don’t be proud of us.” Deborah groaned, rolling her eyes and slouching back into Martin’s hold, propping her feet up on Arthur’s abandoned chair; she was happy, so damn happy, practically dizzy with it, but that didn’t mean she was a soft touch, “The thought is actually painful.”

“Thank you, Herc. We really appreciate you being here.” Martin interrupted, giving Deborah’s waist a quick pinch, although he couldn’t keep the smile from his face; he had been wandering around as if in a daze for about an hour, struck dumb when they had been welcomed in as ‘Mr and Mrs Crieff, “Are you alright Carolyn, you look a bit…”

“A bit what?” Carolyn retorted, scowling as if she were truly insulted by what she was hearing; she could pretend all she liked though, Deborah could tell when she was feigning misery, “What are you implying?”

“Nothing.” Martin replied swiftly, biting down on his lip; instead of facing Carolyn, he buried his nose in Deborah’s hair.

“No congratulations then?” Deborah inquired, curling her hand through the air; she had every right to be smug, considering how good a day it had been, and Carolyn baiting was just the icing on the cake, “I thought you’d have been brimming with things to say by now.”

“Isn’t my having hired the both of you enough?” Carolyn groaned, glaring irritably between them with just a tad less heat than usual; she shifted uncomfortably, as if the thought of romance made her wince…which it probably did, “Surely, being the sole reason that you know each other at all is more than enough involvement in your relationship; I shouldn’t have to dole out congratulations as well.”

“ _Oh,_ that is _lovely_.” Deborah drawled, smirking as Carolyn tore her eyes away, “You’re _really_ proud of us, _aren’t_ you?”

“You know, Carolyn.” Martin remarked, regaining his nerve; he cleared his throat as Deborah’s hand dropped down to his knee, but carried on as if nothing had happened, “Even though you were cruel and hired me for nothing, and then refused to pay me for years and years…I’m actually really grateful that you’re not a very nice person.”

“Thank you, I suppose.” Carolyn muttered, folding her arms and sitting back from the table; she startled when her back hit Herc’s arm, but when she realised that Deborah was watching, maintained her cool and glared right back.

“She is proud though.” Herc assured them, grinning and leaning in to whisper conspiratorially; he had his uses, Deborah supposed, and making fun of his girlfriend was one reason to keep him around, “She even teared up during the service.”

“I most certainly did not!” Carolyn snapped, nostrils flaring; there was no doubt at all that she had cried during the ceremony, something which Deborah made sure to file away for later, “I still can’t believe you voluntarily became Deborah _Crieff_.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you’d wanted to keep your last name.” Martin murmured in Deborah’s ear; that wasn’t true at all, he would have pretended that he was fine and then pouted for weeks, remembering it for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t a problem though; Deborah was pleased…and there were the cheerful tingles again.

“But I didn’t, so the point’s moot.” Deborah retorted, tipping her head back so that she could meet Martin’s smile, and receive a quick kiss, as she lifted her hand and wound her fingers around his; as she turned back to the table, her gaze fell upon her _stunning_ daughter, skipping towards her, dress flowing this way and that, “Oh, here she comes…hello Sweetheart.”

“Hello Mummy!” Verity exclaimed, as she pranced to the table and threw herself into her mother’s arms for only a second before flouncing back and leaping into Martin’s hold; he had finally learnt how best to prepare, after years of being nearly bowled over, and Deborah had to admit, the sight was rather lovely, “Martin…”

A moment later, Verity’s father appeared at behind Carolyn’s seat, hands buried in his pockets, and an awkward smile on his face; although he hadn’t been allowed to come to the wedding, Martin had insisted that Chris be allowed to attend the reception, for Verity’s sake if nothing else. Deborah had grudgingly agreed, and was glad that she had. The man had actually made an effort, and it looked as if he had shaved down to the skin for once; or perhaps his wife had simply forced him to look his best.

“Congratulations…” Chris offered gruffly, taking care not to hold eye contact for too long, and instead watching their daughter as she slipped from Martin’s hold and pushed Deborah’s feet from the spare chair so that she could drop down into it herself, “I’m uh…I’m pleased for you, I really am.”

“Thank you.” Deborah replied, politely, as she knew that there was really nothing else to say to the man that she hadn’t quite stopped hating, though she made an effort to get along; nevertheless, she leaned backwards just enough that Martin took the hint and curled his arm more securely around her waist, cocooning her in a comforting warmth that only just made her feel a little smug.

“And, Martin…” Chris continued, stiltedly, as if he hadn’t meant to speak at all; Martin hummed in acknowledgement, ears practically pricking as they always did when anyone paid him the slightest bit of attention, “If you ever wanted to go for a pint, when I drop Verity off with you two then…well, we could grab your mate and make a lad’s night of it. We might as well, as you’re hanging around.”

“Really?” Martin asked, shifting behind Deborah and puffing out his chest ever so slightly; the offer had been made and accepted many times before, but he never seemed to accept that he was being offered the hand of friendship, no matter how many nights out he experienced, “Yes, I mean –that would be great, to uh, go for a pint, of um…stout, or…bitter.”

“On the subject of his mate, where is Arthur?” Deborah inquired, making a show of glancing over her shoulder; as much as the fluttering in her chest was exacerbated by the idea of everyone falling into place, and of her daughter having a stable family graph for once in her life…it was time to stop talking about her ex and her new husband becoming best buddies.

“Oh, he popped down to the bar.” Chris informed her, nodding in the direction of the door, through which the downstairs bar was located; he scratched his chin, and again, looked uncomfortable at being there at all.

It was too much, and Deborah took pity on him, nodding slightly, and allowing him to wander away without appearing rude. She was just about to wonder aloud as to what Arthur wanted with a bar of all things, to lighten the mood and get Carolyn and Herc bickering again, but she was beaten to the punch.

“You’re really pretty, Mummy.” Verity chimed, as she fiddled with an empty champagne glass which had previously been filled with elderflower water, for the sake of illusion; although she batted her eyelashes and smiled warmly, the light in her eyes made Deborah suspect that there were ulterior motives in play, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I’m going to make sure that I get copies of the photos so that I can show my friends how beautiful you looked.”

Of course, Deborah mused as she smirked and rolled her eyes, that was Verity speak for ‘I want photos so that I can show everyone how pretty _I_ looked in my bridesmaid’s dress’; she couldn’t fault her daughter for style…the girl could tell barefaced lies to her face without even blinking.

“She is, isn’t she?” Martin remarked obliviously, addressing Verity with the same punch-drunk daze that he had been lulled by for hours, “You’re dress is lovely too Verity; you did really well during the service.”

“Thank you.” Verity replied smugly, as she placed the glass back on the table and flicked at the ruffled near her knees with the tips of her fingers; far, far too proud of herself, but perfectly so, “Frizzles said I wouldn’t be able to pull it off, but I think that after Mummy took up the hem, it fits me perfectly.”

“Well, you don’t want to take advice from anyone who’s named after the family cat.” Carolyn muttered, taking a hearty swig from a glass of red wine that she had acquired at some point during the initial dancing and swaying and congratulatory stages of the reception; wherever it was from, Deborah was willing to fund as many glasses as possible if it got Carolyn drunk and giggling and making a fool of herself by the end of the night.

“Hmmm.” Verity hummed thoughtfully, and flicked her hair over her shoulders, turning her back on her mother to address Carolyn directly, “I didn’t say that to her face, but I wrote something similar in my diary. Hopefully we’ll all be long gone before anyone finds it.”

“Perhaps.” Deborah agreed wanly; then, remembering the small tokens of thanks that Martin had just _insisted_ that they supply to their colleagues, she turned and sat a little straighter, running her eyes over her _husband’s_ face, “Martin, have you – oh…my…god…”

As her gaze fell just over Martin’s shoulder, Deborah was met by a sight that made her freeze, and her mouth fall open. Her stomach lurched once, like an excitable terrier having seen something it was particularly fond of, but her mind was screaming at her to pummel her _idiot_ of a brother as she slipped from Martin’s embrace and rose to her feet before she had time to process the action.

“What, what’s wrong?” Martin squawked, hastily turning this way and that, eyes blown wide as if he were expecting terrorists or even naturists to storm the battlements and steal their spotlight; he had been telling her about the likelihood of such an event the night before.

“Nothing’s wrong…that’s my grandmother.” Deborah answered faintly, as she patted her hands down the creases of her dress and tugged at the loose knot tying back her hair in an almost subconscious race to neaten up; she was striding towards the old woman and her wheelchair before she had even finished speaking, but she could hear Martin’s footsteps hot on her heels, “She’s well over a hundred years old! What the _hell_ is she doing out of bed? Archie!”

But Archie was gone in seconds, disappearing into the thin crowd; he knew what was good for him, that much was for sure. He should never have brought their grandmother to the wedding, no matter how pleased Deborah was despite herself. The woman was frail, and thin, and her skin was so near to paper that her sharp features and wispy hair did nothing but increase her vulnerability; the wheelchair did that well enough, as did the oxygen tank that she appeared to be neglecting for the sake of smiling warmly…curt and concise, exact and poised, just like Deborah’s mother had been, even when extending affection. She was ancient…and at the same time, one couldn’t help but feel that she was a hair’s breadth away from condemning someone to death.

“Hello, Debbie, sweetheart.” Granny exclaimed calmly, somehow making her voice heard as she stretched out her arms; somehow, Deborah found herself bending down and receiving a trembling hug, before withdrawing carefully, standing back as the old woman continued to speak unimpeded, “It’s so lovely to see you – gosh, don’t you look beautiful. And this must be your handsome young man.”

“Hello. Charmed to meet you.” Martin introduced himself, in the practiced, smarmy ‘I am the Captain’ tone that he always used when lacking in confidence; he bent down slightly to shake Granny’s hand, and then, sparing Deborah a nervous glance, blushed, and lied through his teeth, “I’ve heard so many good things about you – I-I’m Martin, hello.”

“Aren’t you a dear.” Granny noted matter-of-factly, her gaze so piercing that Deborah felt Martin’s arm curl around hers so that their hands intertwined; then she looked back to Deborah, folding her hands in her lap, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the ceremony, but I’m here now, so you can just appreciate the fact that I’m still breathing after your brother’s ridiculous method of getting me into the car.”

“Granny, what are you doing here?” Deborah inquired, as lightly and politely as she was capable of; something about her grandmother’s gaze made her guts shiver, and her throat tickle, and shot her back decades until she barely came up to any adult’s waist, “You shouldn’t be-”

“Don’t fuss over me.” Granny instructed sharply, pointing a hooked finger at her; old she may have been, but she certainly didn’t realise her own lack of strength, “Now, sit down.”

Immediately, Deborah reached for a seat that had been abandoned a few feet away, and plonked it down in front of the wheelchair, listening to the scrape as Martin did the same; sitting, with her wrists propped on her knees, one leg pressed against Martin’s Deborah couldn’t help but feel a bit ridiculous, and far more tiny.

“Why am I sitting?” Deborah asked thinly, sparing a glance towards Martin, who was biting his lip and looking somewhat like a schoolboy, and nothing of a captain; the image of him pouting slightly, red faced and anxious, eased her nerves just a tad, as she recalled again how _perfect_ it was that they would be spending the rest of their lives together.

“Because I want to talk to you and this makes it harder for you to run away.” Granny replied, tipping her chin into the air and making a roundabout motion with her hand; the bones in her wrist clicked, and Deborah held her tongue, “The first thing I want to say…is how proud I am of you. For the first time since you were little, I can actually say that and mean it. I am so, so proud of you.”

“Thank you, but there’s no need-” Deborah began to insist, trying to remain the responsible adult that she now was, even though the air in her lungs was whirring this way and that, and a lump was forming in her throat; _finally_ …but she was too old for things like that to mean anything.

“Shush, Debbie!” Granny ordered, and Deborah’s mouth snapped shut; beside her, Martin made an amused sound, but was ignored, “I’m so happy for you, and I know I’m getting old, and closer to kicking the bucket, but I would still like to see you two being a happy married couple, and making lots of tiny children that you actually get to keep this time.”

“Um…thank you…?” Martin spoke when Deborah didn’t, narrowing his eyes and peering at the old woman, bewildered; Deborah took his hand, and he looked to her, evidently trying to work out whether she had just been insulted, “Was that…?”

“I can hear you, I’m not deaf.” Granny scolded him, calmly, with the composure of a fearsome saint; Martin shut up immediately, blushing furiously, “The second thing I wanted to do, was to give you a wedding present.” Deborah opened her mouth, but Granny snapped and pointed sharply, “Shush! I’m old; I can do what I like. How are you going to feel if I die in half an hour and you stopped me from doing what I came here for?”

“Sorry, Granny.” Deborah sighed, slouching more comfortably onto her knees so that she could rest her chin on the hand that wasn’t clenched in Martin’s palm; there was no arguing with the woman, and to be honest, she was waiting in trepidation for some shred of wisdom, or parental scold that would make everything clear.

“Right, so.” Granny started, setting her shoulders back and reaching into her pocket; the way that she moved was terrifying, and Deborah wanted to lurch forwards and hold her together, but she just watched as her grandmother leaned forwards and took Martin’s hand, pressing something down into it, and then staying, as if withholding the reveal, “Your present was too big to bring up here, but I can give you these. This is more for you, young man, than for Debbie, although I suppose it could serve a family.”

“Are these…these are car keys.” Martin murmured thickly as she slouched back in her wheelchair, and he was able to peer down at the glinting object in his palm; the realisation was slow to cloud his features, but the moment that they did, far more quickly than Deborah could force speech over her own speechlessness, his back was straight and he was clearing his throat, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, we can’t accept-”

“You’ll take what you’re given, no arguments.” Granny told him sternly, and Martin could only clamp his mouth shut and nod, “I noticed there was no get-away car out front for when you drive into the sunset, but I think this one should do nicely. It’s a Jaguar, Mark 2, 3.8 – a red one too, just like Debbie’s granddad used to drive before he passed away.” Another hand dipped into her pocket, and Martin received a sheet of paper, which made his eyes blow even wider, “Here, I had Archie take a picture in between his salivating over it.”

“Oh my god…” Martin breathed, shrilly, like whistling the air through his windpipe without any real control or willpower; he tilted the page towards Deborah, and slumped back in his seat, releasing her hand so that he could run his own over his face, “Oh wow…”

“Granny, you can’t give us a _car_.” Deborah insisted, far more shrilly than she would ever admit to being; this was beyond generosity, it was plain stupidity, and they couldn’t accept it, not in a million years, not when Granny was starting to sound a bit like she had fresh out of flight-school, “This goes against everything you ever told me when I was little.”

“Let’s be frank dear; I’m near death, and you’re not exactly a spring chicken.” Granny remarked wryly, rolling her eyes, which were almost dry now with age; it was hard to argue with that kind of logic, “Now’s the time for living, girl, not for hanging around. Besides, it’s far better than that ridiculous purple thing you were driving last time I saw you; Granddaddy would be ashamed to see you in anything quite so gaudy.”

“Alright…thank you.” Deborah said, conceding defeat; she reached out a hand to squeeze Martin’s wrist, but he was still fanning himself with the picture of the classic car, his dazed stupor shattered and bombed by the stunned punch that he had taken to the gut, “I’m glad you came-”

“I’m not finished yet.” Granny interrupted, shaking her head, completely oblivious to the laws of conversation as many an elderly person tends to be; once again she reached into her pocket, and brought out a tattered sheet of paper, which shuddered between her fingers, “I have one more thing to give you. I meant to give it to you years ago, but it never seemed like a good time.”

“What is it?” Deborah asked, leaning across the space between them to take the sheet of paper; she didn’t look at it, afraid of what she might find, but held in over her lap and held her grandmother’s gaze, hoping that her eyebrows weren’t so far into her hairline that they might never return.

“It’s a cheque for the money in your saving’s account. The one that I opened the day you were born.” Granny explained, as if it were no matter at all; that she had been keeping it a secret for years didn’t seem to impede her confidence at all, “I put ten pounds a month in, every month, until you were eighteen…then, when I didn’t give it to you, I just kept putting ten pounds a month in – and of course, extra lump sums at birthdays and Christmases and Easters, whenever I had a cash flow really. Now…it would be silly to keep it, and I think you could use a little something to put it your pockets, for the future.”

“Granny, that is – _oh my god!”_ Deborah’s mouth fell open, and she might have actually fainted for a moment, toppling forwards before catching herself when she turned the cheque over in her hands and _saw_ what was written on it; all the air ejected itself from her lungs, and all that Deborah could do was grasp aimlessly at Martin’s arm and thrust the cheque into his hands, _“Martin…”_

“ _Holy sh-_ oh, wow…that is…” Martin stammered, and stared, and started, shifting to the edge of his seat, mouth agape; his eyes darted between Granny and the cheque, and then he exhaled sharply, and turned to stare wide eyed at Deborah, hand shooting out to take her and grip it painfully, fingers digging between her knuckles, “ _Deborah_ …”

“This is _thirty thousand, eight hundred pounds!”_ Deborah exclaimed, hissing in an attempt not to be overheard by the guests that were starting to notice that their host weren’t just sitting around for a jolly chat; this was…this was completely…she looked down at the cheque one last time, to see if it was real, and then up at Granny, to see if she had completely lost her mind, “And sixty pence…you can’t just give us _thirty grand_!”

“Would you rather it got put in my will and split between you and Archie?” Granny inquired coolly, utterly unabashed by the horror on the faces of the two people in front of her; in fact, she actually seemed a little insulted, “Archie’s got plenty of money. And it’s for _you_ …I saved it for you, because you’re my only granddaughter.”

“Archie’s your only grandson!” Deborah insisted, forcing herself to breathe properly as she clutched the stiff paper in her palm; this was completely ridiculous….this many good things did _not_ happen all at once.

“Well, I didn’t say that favouritism didn’t play a part in it.” Granny remarked sheepishly, averting her eyes for only a second; the only sign that she was aware how monumentally outlandish her gift was.

“Why did you keep putting money in?” Deborah asked, already feeling her resolve slipping as her shoulders began to sag; they could do so much with this money, so much that they had planned to miss out on, “Why didn’t you just give it to me when I was eighteen and save yourself…what…how much could you have saved?”

“About twenty-nine grand.” Martin supplied helpfully, though his voice still sounded hollow, as if he were removed from the world; Deborah gave his hand a grateful squeeze, unsure of what else could really be said.

“Because, I didn’t want you having that sort of money at eighteen. You were irresponsible, and a drunk, and you couldn’t even choose the right degree…” Granny explained, as always, unabashed and pulling no punches; brutally honest, brutally down to earth, no matter how much her body betrayed her, “Then you were older, and a good pilot, and I thought about it…but you got a divorce, and the drinking, oh the drinking was awful for _years_ , so I thought ‘that girl can have her money when she deserves it’. Then you had your child taken away, then you were married again…I was very disappointed, and worried about what would happen.”

“And now I’m good enough am I?” Deborah demanded weakly; she couldn’t just let her give them so much money…even though there was no fighting it…one last try, before her heart leapt so high in her throat that it became irretrievable.

“Yes. I think that your mother would agree with me. You may not be in a very good job, but Archie tells me that you’re doing well, and that your relationship with Verity is good, and that you and your new husband are perfectly stable and happy…” Granny replied, curtly, as if she were reading from the encyclopaedia; beside her, Deborah felt Martin sit up a little straighter, as his sleeve brushed against the bare skin at her elbow, “For the first time in years Debbie, I am very proud of you, and I think that you deserve this money. Keep it, and put it in the bank, and send your children to good schools, or pay for music lessons, or a nice house for them. I’m too old to need that kind of money rolling around my bank account.”

“Thank you…so much.” Martin took the lead before Deborah could even try and refuse again, lowly, thickly, in the smooth tone of voice so laced with gratitude, but so strong, that it might have done well on the flight-deck, giving announcements; he released Deborah’s hand, only to rise to his feet and take Granny’s, and ask, “Would you like a drink, or…”

“I’ll have vodka, no ice.” Granny replied politely, as an indulgent smile took over her lips and brought the faint whisper of a flush to her cheeks; she had got what she wanted, and Martin was nodding and doing as he was told, walking away and disappearing downstairs as she called at his back, “Thank you dear.”

The decision was made…Martin was accepting one final miracle on top of the others that had been doled out to them over the course of the day. They were married…oh god, they were married, and that would have been enough for a lifetime. Now they had a car and a small fortune…life should never have been so _good_ Deborah thought, as she stared into space. Perhaps that was why her stomach felt so dizzy.

“Are you going to be staying long?” Deborah inquired, when the silence became painful; she lifted her gaze to meet Granny’s eyes, and just like that the pickles of nervousness were plucking at her insides again, washing like a wave held back by whatever barriers she still possessed. This wasn’t right at all.

“I’ll stay as long as I please.” Granny replied tartly, in the haughty, superior tone that she still mastered despite her voice being nothing more than a thin reed nowadays; she took one look at Deborah’s face, and can’t have liked what she saw, “Don’t look at me like that; I’m too old to be missing things because I’m too old. Think long and hard about that Debbie; it’s a metaphysical conundrum.”

“Do you really think I’m good enough now?” Deborah asked faintly, taking small comfort from the solidity of her knuckles beneath her chin; damn…she hadn’t even known that she was thinking that, let alone asking it. With Martin for a husband, and everything in place, that shouldn’t have even been a question anymore…she was a sky god, not a little girl.

“Oi, you, zip it. I don’t want to hear another word about that.” Granny snapped; if she had been close enough, Deborah was sure that she would have thwacked her with the back of her hand, “You made mistakes, but they’re in the past now. What you need to do is to keep looking forwards, and make the most of the good things you’ve got now.”

“But I-” Deborah started, but she wasn’t allowed to finish.

“No, no lingering in the past!” Granny insisted, waving her hands in the air as if in despair, or as if she were batting flies, “Do you still dream of joining that, Starfleet?”

“Sometimes.” Deborah admitted petulantly, scuffing the toe of her shiny shoe on the floor; that was a secret though, and never to be spoken of out loud, or with anyone related to MJN, “Martin and I would have fun…if we had a decent ship.”

“That was a bad example.” Granny sighed, letting her eyes fall closed; there was no missing the exasperation in her tone, “I was trying to point out that just because you wanted something in the past, doesn’t mean you want it now. How about this…can you go back in time and change things, stop being an alcoholic, keep your baby, avoid getting married to idiots?”

“No.” Deborah replied shortly; what else was there to say?

“Then why the hell are you worrying about it.” Granny growled, or as close to a growl as a woman of her age could reach; it wasn’t a question, it was a command, and Deborah couldn’t help but breathe a little easier because of it, “If all that you can touch is the now and the ahead, then enjoy the now and keep looking forwards. Forget your mistakes…they’ve forgotten you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Three weeks trotting around Europe, and Martin’s freckles were almost imperceptible beneath the sunburn that spackled his cheeks. He kept noting her tan, but Deborah couldn’t really tell. They had been enjoying themselves far too much to pay attention to such inconsequential things, but now that they were home, there would be plenty of time to catalogue their souvenirs as they adjusted to their newly married life.

It had been funny, throughout the honeymoon, to be the passengers on board their flights; Martin had quibbled over the protocol that he thought were being broken or adhered to, and Deborah had smirked and smiled and tried to keep him in his seat, thinking up new games to keep them entertained without upsetting the cabin crews.

Now though, it was just good to be home. Or it would be, if Martin would pick up his bags and let her through the front door.

“No, Martin, you can’t carry me in.” Deborah insisted, putting up the minimum of resistance that she could get away with as Martin slipped his arms around her waist smiling wickedly as their noses brushed; he mind was absolutely set upon carrying her over the threshold, despite how ridiculous an idea it was, “Don’t even try.”

“Yes I can.” Martin replied, with the confident curtness that came with being a captain well sunned and still basking in the glow of weeks of… _fun_ ; his hands slipped from her waist to her shoulders, and Martin beamed as he brushed the tips of his fingers through the hair that escaped from behind her ears, “You forget, I make a living from lifting heavy things.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Deborah drawled, quirking an eyebrow at him and winding her fingers around his wrists; the new status of their relationship didn’t mean that she was going to stop teasing him…quite the opposite in fact.

“Nothing…” Martin amended hastily, drawing his bottom lip through his teeth; he looked apologetic for a fraction of a second, and in the next he was grinning, and he ducked down, hooking his arms around Deborah’s waist and her knees, “Come here.”

“No, n-n-no!” Deborah absolutely didn’t squawk as the ground disappeared from beneath her feet; her hand grasped at the open doorframe as she Martin swung her into his arms, faltering only slightly as his chest heaved, and she was forced to slip her arms around his shoulders, “Martin! Put me down!”

“Nope.” Martin chuckled, as he walked them through the door; as he went, he kicked their bags into the hall, and nudged the door closed, before his smile grew wider, and he blinked down at Deborah with the sort of light in his eyes that made her lungs expand and flutter with more hot air than they could cope with, softening her resolve and making her ache to let him carry on, “I love you Mrs Crieff.”

“I love you too Martin.” Deborah murmured, letting her arms relax and her eyes fall closed as she closed the gap between them, pressing a determined kiss to his lips; when she tried to pull away, stroking the tops of her fingers down his neck, Martin ducked down for one last kiss before she turned her cheek away and shifted in his hold, “Now put me down before I kick you.”

“Fine.” Martin groaned good-naturedly; he ambled towards the sofa, and attempted to lower them both down onto the cushions, but ended up stumbling and sending them both toppling down, landing in an awkward tangle of limbs, “Ow…oops, sorry.”

“No don’t worry about, darling.” Deborah remarked, pushing her hair from her eyes and over her shoulders; lifting herself from the sofa, she gave Martin the room to sit back, so that she could lie back down with her shoulder against his chest, pulling his arms around her waist and curling her hands around his, “You’ve done worse than drop me before.”

“Shut up.” Martin muttered against her cheek; for a moment he was silent, and Deborah could enjoy the sound of his heart thrumming steadily inside his gently rising chest, but that didn’t last long; he had been eager to make the most of every second from their first minute of peace after the wedding, “What do we do now? There’s nothing waiting and no work to do…and I’m kind of tired.”

“I don’t know, Martin.” Deborah replied, content to relax into a cuddle and play with the palms of his hands, tracing the lines and dry patches of skin where he had worn down the crooks of his thumbs; there was no need to rush anymore, they had all the time in the world together, “What do you _want_ to do?”

“Married things…Is it too early to start planning for the future?” Martin elaborated, coyly as he fidgeted, shrugged his shoulders, “Surely there’s stuff that needs talking about sooner rather than later? It be nice, i-if we had one of those things, those married things, just to sort of symbolise us finally settling down. Like a statement.”

“You mean…like getting married, perhaps?” Deborah drawled, tipping her head back so that she could see him flush and pout his lips; it was ‘ _look, I’m the captain_ ’ all over again, except this time he had something other than his hat to shove in parade around in front of people.

“Other than getting married I mean.” Martin explained, wriggling his fingers against hers; then he jolted and stammered, taking care to meet her gaze, “N-not that that isn’t enough! It’s everything, of course, but, I just thought that-”

“I know.” Deborah assured him, pressing their joined hands over his lips to shut him up; it may not have been her first marriage, but it was the first time that she had had any idea of what she was entering into, so she understood him, even if anyone else might have been insulted, “I’m assuming when you say ‘married thing’ you don’t mean putting the energy bills under both of our names?”

“No...something fun.” Martin replied, adjusting his arm around her waist; his idea of fun was no necessarily the same as hers, but it couldn’t be awfully dull, “Something nice, that’ll last.”

“Hmmm…” Deborah hummed in acknowledgement, and closed her eyes as she rested her cheek against Martin’s chest; they _did_ need something solid to lay down, something shared and not simply negotiated between them…now that the foundations of their future were planted, it was the time to explore all of the things that they had always wanted, but never been in a position to get, “You know…I’ve always liked the idea of having a cat.”

“A cat?” Martin repeated, as if she were mad; he stiffened and leant back so that he could grimace within her line of sight, obviously recalling his last interactions with the feline species, “Oh…I suppose.” he couldn’t even force a smile, but his eyebrows rose slowly to meet his hairline, and he asked, “They’re quite easy to look after, aren’t they?”

“So long as you feed them and let them sit on you, they’re no trouble at all.” Deborah replied; she turned so that she was lying on her side, curled around him, releasing his hand so that she could tap her fingers against his chest, “Why, are you considering it?”

“It doesn’t sound too bad…a cat might be nice actually, ou-our first pet.” Martin mused, stretching out and rolling his shoulders until they were both lying more horizontally on the cushions; his expression drooped in a matter of seconds as his brow furrowed, “Oh! But we _can’t_ \- who’d look after it? I mean, w-we spend days and nights flying, a-and sometimes we can spent whole fortnights out of the country. If we had a cat, one of us would need to be in the flat at least once a day to feed it and make sure it was still alive.”

“Oh…well, that was a short lived plan…” Deborah conceded, sighing as she tried to think of something else that they could do that would appease Martin’s need to abide by the protocol of marriage, and keep her happy; unfortunately, her mind had been made, “We could get a cat later. When one of us isn’t working…perhaps…at that point in our lives…”

“Why would one of us not be working?” Martin interjected, his voice low in his throat, throwing his confusion from the walls of their comfortable bubble; when Deborah didn’t answer immediately, he sat up, practically tipping her from his lap until they were facing each other directly.

“It might become necessary that one of us stays in Fitton of a day and night…” Deborah explained, swallowing the sheepish lump in her throat as her eyes dropped to trace her hands and she nudged her knee against his, seeking some sign of confirmation; the thought was…dreary, and strange, but it had occurred, once or twice, that as comfortable as she they all were, the world that they had built up around them had ever stopped crumbling towards its end, “For example, if we had children to look after.”

“Oh…” Martin’s eyes widened, and even though they had talked about this sort of thing before, his cheeks still blushed pink, and he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, “S-so you, y-you _do_ want to have children? W-with me, I mean?”

“I know that _you_ do.” Deborah informed him, simply, the rush of affection in her chest washing into her smile as she allowed her hand to trace his knee, and to her pleasure, Martin grasped it in his; it was easier than admitting that she would very much like a family with him…far less risky, even if he could see through her prevarications.

“I-I-I…I’ve always wanted children – that would be _perfect_.” Martin spluttered, his who face erupting into a thrilled beam that didn’t seem sure which features it was going to overcome; he fidgeted and shifted, almost bouncing as he turned and folded his legs beneath him, taking both of Deborah’s hands and leaning in as if conversing from a polite distance was too stressful, “I-I-I-”

“Good, then we’re on the same page.” Deborah remarked, pursing her lips; she had been looking forwards to a few more days of relaxation and romance, but if they were talking seriously, then that had to take precedence, “Which means that…when we do have children, we can’t both be flying around the world. One of us will have to-”

“You sound like you’ve given this a lot of thought.” Martin cut in, his eyebrows knitting as he blinked at her; after a moment, his confusion faded, and was replaced by a faint smile that curled at the corner of his lips, and the jittering in his limbs stilled, “You’ve been thinking about us having children? As in, sitting around making plans?”

“Not plans, just…it’s been on my mind, and I couldn’t help but think about the practical aspects of it.” Deborah was caught between a smile and a grimace as Martin’s gaze wandered over her face; the flittering in her chest wasn’t easy to accept, no matter how much she loved him, “If…when we have children, it’s going to mean me giving up my job, and-”

“Hold on.” Martin let go of her hands and raised his own in the air between them; he shook his head and drew his bottom lip between his teeth, “Why would it have to be _you_ giving up your job? I could be a stay at home dad, o-or I could do a day job-”

“No you couldn’t.” Deborah interrupted sharply, grasping his wrists and lowering his hands, giving them an extra squeeze so that he knew that she was serious; she _had_ been thinking about their future, a lot, especially considering the mess that they had had to endure to even have a happy relationship, “Even if you could, there is no way in hell I’m letting you give up being a pilot. I would rather have no more children than make you give up everything that you’ve worked for.” The memory of him leaving for Switzerland, and then abandoning the whole venture, still ached every time it wandered through her mind, and Deborah wasn’t about to let him open his mouth and try to convince her that he could live a life that he didn’t want, “Martin. This isn’t up for discussion…I’ve had my time, and…I’m tired. As much as I love our job, it wouldn’t hurt me to move on for the sake of having a family…it’s not as if this is happening now.”

The idea of one day not working for MJN, of having to say goodbye to GERTI and leave the flight-deck for the last time…of enduring a day out of the house in which she didn’t get to look across the control panel and see Martin preening and fussing, or ding the bell and have Arthur bumble in with coffee in each hand…it was like trying to conceive the end of the world.

But it had to happen one day…and Deborah would rather have it happen on _her_ terms, when she had Martin and something good to look forward to, and could be sure that Carolyn and Arthur were only a phone call away. A proper family might make leaving the fun behind…worthwhile.

“Alright.” Martin assented, nodding gravely, although she knew that he was grateful; then, as always, slowly but surely, his brow furrowed and his eyes widened, and he came to the same realisation that she had, “If…if you stop flying, then MJN will fold.”

“I know.” Deborah acknowledged briefly, making sure to school her expression so that Martin wouldn’t have another reason to worry, or to feel guilty; she folded her legs and set her shoulders back, determined to get to the bottom of the matter, so that when they really did discuss starting a family, it was with smiles on their faces and not fears clouding their judgement, “That’s…that’s why we need to take our time and think about it.”

“So we have to choose?” Martin asked bleakly, his gaze dropping to stare at his hands as they twitched, as if dying to embrace hers, “Start a family or…or lose MJN.”

“No. There’s no choice.” Deborah sighed, shaking her head; she unfolded herself and crawled to Martin’s side, smiling faintly as his head followed the movement, and hooking her arm through his, leaning into his side, “Carolyn and Arthur are a part of our lives…they won’t disappear if we stop working together. And…MJN was ending before it began…we’re not missing out on having a family for the sake of a crumbling company.”

“Of course not.” Martin nodded quickly, his voice dropping to a murmur; he turned slightly, so that they were almost facing each other, without losing their embrace, and spoke quietly, as if afraid that anything louder than a hush might shatter their current reality with echoes of a new one, “I’d have to get another job, with another airline.”

“You can do it.” Deborah promised, just as softly, murmuring so that if they moved a little closer, their lips might have been touching; unlike years ago, when she had sat in the flight-deck and watched him, storing up complaints to fire at her ex, she actually believed that he _could_ , “You’ve managed before.”

“Yeah…So…we have to give it time.” Martin remarked, tipping his chin up and puffing out of his chest as if he were about to launch into a safety announcement; nevertheless, his tone remained intimate, and his eyes lingered lazily on hers, “When, uh, w-when were you thinking of all of this, uh, this life changing stuff?”

“I wasn’t thinking of any time in particular.” Deborah admitted, shrugging her shoulders and hooking one knee over his, “It’s just…neither of us are particularly young, so it’s been on my mind a lot, and I just started considering the logistics of it all-”

She hadn’t made any plans, she wasn’t like Martin, but she had lain in bed at night, in their various cheap hotel rooms across Europe, running Archie’s warning through her head and imagining the millions of ways that Martin could look even more beautiful with a baby in his arms, or dancing his ridiculous dances with a tiny child clinging to his hands.

“If we both want children, then we don’t have to wait until we’re ready.” Martin interjected brightly, as if that solved everything; impulsivity and indecision all wrapped into one, plan made, so let’s do it.

“No, we do. I want to enjoy being married to you first, before we start....changing things.” Deborah countered, without any real heat behind the statement; it was nice to be making plans, nice to be talking about it like adults, as if their continued future were guaranteed, and nice to rest her cheek on Martin’s shoulder and feel him nodding against the top of her head, “We’re not ready yet. And…I’m not ready to leave MJN yet; not even a little bit.”

“Then…how about we wait a year?” Martin suggested; when Deborah only hummed, he shifted back and nudged her chin up so that he could look her in the eyes, gnawing on his bottom lip all the while, “I-if we wait a year, and then see how we feel, th-then we’ve had time to settle into being married, and to think about all those huge changes to our lives, a-and we could-”

“A year is good.” Deborah assured him, placing her palm flat on his chest; she smiled, and Martin smiled back, and she couldn’t quite contain the pleasure of being on the same page, something so simple, but completely wonderful when two people that were always arguing could agree upon something as…beautiful as their future together, “And when we decide to have children, we can get a cat.”

“Yes.” Martin sighed, closed his eyes and scrunching up the bridge of his nose; Deborah laughed, and had to sit back, covering her lips with the backs of her knuckles as he groaned, “Yes we can get a cat.”

oOoOoOo

It was good to be back in the pilot’s seat after weeks of only listening to other pilots deliver perfect announcements through the intercom, without a single diversion or accident. Not that Deborah planned on allowing Martin to divert or have an accident; the potential was familiar and welcome though, and she couldn’t help but smile and sigh as she sank into the stiff pads of her seat and listen to the clunking and whirring of GERTI’s faulty control panel.

Martin was leaning across the panel, finger pressed into the intercom button, a cheesy grin plastered over his face, red from the exertion of being so consistently excited by being back at work; his hat was even propped atop his head despite the fact that they had taken off, and he had no intention of leaving the flight-deck.

“Hello passengers! This is your Captain speaking; Captain Martin Crieff.” Martin announced, shooting Deborah glances over his shoulder as if to include her in his grand joke; it was enough to make her smirk, contented in the fondness that simmered in her chest whenever he played her games, “Flying with me today is my First Officer; First Officer Crieff – that is First Officer _Deborah Crieff_ , my _wife_. Just to verify, this is our first flight after we got _married_ , and with me today is my _wife_ , First Officer _Crieff_!”

“And our flight time should be about seven hours.” Deborah remarked, as she reached across to place her hand over Martin’s keeping the intercom on as she spoke; the sheepishness that flashed across his expression as he hastily cleared his throat was worth the prod, “The Captain will turn off the seat belt sign when we’ve reached our maximum altitude.”

The door to the flight-deck clicked open just as the both of them sat back, and Deborah reached across the gap between them to knock Martin’s hat to the side, to which he retaliated by taking hers completely, before returning it when he realised that she didn’t really care whether she was wearing it or not.

“Aw, that was brilliant Skip.” Arthur exclaimed as he shuffled into the flight-deck and pulled the door closed behind him; he came to stand between their seats, one arm draped over the back of each, “At least one of the passengers was pleased for you.”

“Good.” Martin replied, nodding sagely and flicking a switch above his head, before dropping his hand to rest on the controls; he preened smugly, glancing between Deborah and Arthur, tipping his nose into the air, “It’s nice to know that someone’s happy for us.”

“ _Yes_ ; it’s almost as if those teenagers care more about comic-con than their pilots’ love lives.” Deborah drawled, smirking as she admired the determinedly abashed set of Martin’s jaw; she wasn’t stupid enough to think that the world cared about their happiness, even if she did, “How dare they finish constructing their costumes instead of congratulating you?”

Deborah was careful not to tease him _too_ much; she had smiled and laughed at first, but Martin had plenty of ammunition, as while he had been telling one group of young lads about how it was their first flight since they had married, she had become enthralled in a conversation that a pair of young ladies, dressed as Kirk and Spock respectively, were having regarding the practical potential of studying physics with the intention of discovering warp drives. Needless to say, Deborah was keeping her mouth shut as she wasn’t sure how much of her own Starfleet related knowledge he had overheard.

“Us.” Martin corrected her, attempting to hide his pout as he pushed his hat more securely on his head; of course, the novelty of their marriage hadn’t yet worn off, and he had been vehement about their doing everything properly, as a team, all together and by the book…it wasn’t about him at all, “They should be congratulating us.”

“Of course.” Deborah retorted, rolling her eyes and folding one leg over the other, wrapping her arms around her waist as she relaxed; whatever he said, any congratulations and joy was Martin’s, and not hers, because he deserved it in ways that she didn’t, “My mistake.”

“I thought it was lovely.” Arthur sighed, leaning bodily against the seats in a thoughtful, musing way, eyes wandering onto the sky ahead; as Deborah tipped her head back to get a better look at him, he jolted and remarked cheerfully, as if it were just a passing idea, “You know chaps, I thought that you’d come back from your honeymoon all… _married_ , but you’re actually the same as always; it’s brilliant.”

“When you say married, what do you mean?” Martin inquired, turning his head and narrowing his eyes at Arthur; his tone was laced with suspicion, the sort that was always followed by indignation.

“More like forced associates than lovers?” Deborah suggested, without the dreariness that she might have felt a few years beforehand; she was confident that she would never feel the same disinterest for Martin that she had for her ex-husbands after only a year of marriage to both of them.

“Yeah…” Arthur agreed, nodding with his lips pressed into a thin line, although he didn’t seem particularly upset by the idea; he shrugged his shoulders and ignored the pointed glare that Martin shoot him, “I’d got so used to Mum and Dad arguing that I forgot it was supposed to be romantic.”

“Yes, well.” Martin cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back, squaring his stance as his brows dipped in the centre of his forehead; he made a point of looking between Deborah and Arthur and holding both of their gazes for a moment or two, “No offence, but Deborah and I are nothing like your parents.”

“Although I can’t guarantee that we won’t argue.” Deborah remarked, taking a shred of pleasure from the almost silent huff that Martin produced as he sagged into his seat; nothing was changing, not _really_ , now that everything was finally back on track, “I got a call from one of my old acquaintances-”

“ _No_!” Martin exclaimed, cheeks flushing indignantly; he shook his head furiously and gazed at her as if begging her to do as he asked, a hopelessness existing even then, “No smuggling, Debs, _please_! This is supposed to be a fresh start.”

“I’m not promising you anything until I’ve found out exactly what’s on offer.” Deborah smirked, laughing as she watched Martin huff and jab at a control that didn’t do anything at all, and Arthur opened his mouth, presumably to ask whether he could help her with anything.

Again, the flight-deck door opened, and Carolyn burst in, grumbling under his breath and shaking her head, tracing her hair with the tips of her fingers as if to keep it in place; anyone would have thought that she was having a hard time looking after their customers while the three of them lounged about at the front of the plane.

“Martin!” Carolyn snapped, her tone heaving with exasperation as she wafted Arthur out of the way, until the both of them were standing either side of the jump-seat; Martin peered over his shoulder, wide-eyed and unassuming, as she grimaced down at him, “What have I told you about harassing the passengers?”

“I wasn’t harassing them.” Martin insisted, petulantly, like a child defending its rights to do as it pleased; Deborah chuckled and shook her head, dropping her eyes and picking at her epaulets so that she didn’t appear to be enjoying his fervour so much, “It was an announcement.”

“After the fuss you made in person this morning, just talking to them is harassment.” Carolyn retorted, although she didn’t seem as displeased as she tried to sound; besides, Martin _had_ been particularly…chipper, when he had greeted the young passengers that morning, “I’m pleased that you’re both happy, if only because happy pilots means a peaceful flight, but do try and contain your glee.”

“We should be throwing a post-honeymoon celebration.” Arthur declared, throwing his hands into the air; he was possibly the only person on the plane unfazed by the degree of enthusiasm that their captain had been exuding, “Or a party!”

“Arthur, light of my life, the flight-deck can only contain so much cheer.” Carolyn sighed, batting her hand through the air; she nodded towards the Galley, “Go and serve the passengers more snacks.”

“Righto.” Arthur chirped, nodding and swinging his hands; without another word, he ambled from the flight-deck. He would have far more fun surrounded by young fans than he would talking to _them_.

“Are you not enjoying the vigour of the youth, Carolyn?” Deborah inquired coyly, blinking up at her as she watched Arthur retreat over the top of her seat; “I’d have thought that you’d have been thrilled that so many students wanted ferrying across the Atlantic at last minute rates.”

“They’re actually not bad compared to some people we’ve had on board.” Carolyn admitted, cocking her head to the side as her expression softened somewhat; she stepped forwards so that she was between their seats, and they didn’t have to peer away from the sky, “If it weren’t for the yelled debates over which characters should have slept with and or murdered whom, then they’d be the epitome of perfect behaviour.”

“So, Carolyn…” Martin uttered, after a moment of quiet fell between them, and the whirring crackle of GERTI’s panel faltered and then kicked in again; he paused, drew his bottom lip between his teeth, and then as always, ploughed ahead, “Did something happen while we were gone?”

“What do you mean?” Carolyn asked, blinking down at him in confusion.

“It’s just that Arthur’s, well, Arthur again.” Martin noted, nodding towards the Galley; it was true, that over the course of their honeymoon, Arthur’s previous candour and sombre façade had disappeared, and any emotions that he was experiencing in the wake of their wedding were gone, “He seemed a bit subdued when we left, but he’s all…bouncy again.”

“Oh, yes.” Carolyn remarked brightly, eyes widening as she realised what he meant; if Deborah wasn’t mistaken, she would have sworn that she was pleasantly surprised by her own answer, “He’s got himself a new girlfriend, as unbelievable as that might sound.”

“Really?” Martin replied, displaying the surprise that Deborah was feeling, but able to hide; he was only overcome for a moment though, as he nodded in acceptance and inquired more brightly, pushing his hat back so that he wasn’t peering around its rim and his view of Carolyn wasn’t blocked, “What’s she like?”

“I don’t know; I haven’t met her.” Carolyn replied, making a helpless gesture with her hands and pursing her lips; that was odd, but she didn’t seem concerned…not that Arthur had ever done anything deserving of concern, “All I know is that he met her on your wedding day, and that they’ve been seeing each other on the sly ever since.”

“Oh, isn’t that lovely.” Deborah purred, sitting up a little straighter; she had to admit, she was rather pleased for him; it would be nice if all of the crew could had _someone_ , even if those someones included Herc and a complete stranger, “I always feel a certain sense of pride whenever Arthur does anything on the sly.”

“Not sly enough that I didn’t find out.” Carolyn scoffed, rolling her eyes in a way that in any other person might have been a fond motion, “I don’t know why he hasn’t said anything yet; he’s never normally this secretive about his relationships, if you could call most of them that.”

“Maybe she’s a criminal.” Martin theorised, lowering his voice into a hushed whisper as his eyes darted towards the door; he even went so far as to duck his head as if they were under attack from above.

“Or simply shy.” Deborah countered, quirking her eyebrow at him; without another word, she reached forwards and clicked on the intercom, speaking into the receiver before Carolyn could inject herself and try to stop her, “Arthur, could you come to the flight-deck for a minute?”

“If you’re questioning him then I’m leaving.” Carolyn informed them, stepping back and raising her hands into the air in surrender; the door opened behind her just in time for her to step backwards through it, dodging Arthur as she went, “I’ve heard enough gushing about romance, real and fictional, to last me a life time.”

“You alright chaps?” Arthur asked, sparing his mother a glance as she passed and the door clanged shut at his back; he rubbed his hands together in a business-like manner, “Is it time for your coffees already?”

“Not yet, Arthur. We were just wondering whether you’d acquired anyone new in your life.” Deborah explained, before Martin could open his mouth; she watched Arthur’s expression cloud over with confusion, although she knew that he wasn’t stupid and that he couldn’t have been that bewildered, “You know, while we were away on our honeymoon…” when Arthur still shook his head unassumingly, her patience snapped, and she demanded, “We want to know about your new girlfriend.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Martin added, getting his word in before Arthur could answer; the ‘oh’ that Arthur’s mouth fell into gave him the time to turn in his seat and check their height, and to wait for a good excuse to come.

“Because it’s your time to be happy.” Arthur answered, when his face had gone red and he had done his visible best to devise some sort of clever reply, and come up with nothing; he shrugged his shoulders and returned to stand between their seats, “I was going to tell you, just after your wedding was far enough in the past that I wasn’t stealing your thunder.”

“Oh, Arthur, you don’t have to worry about that.” Martin assured him, with an air of authority that only he could claim, and that only Arthur ever responded to with more than a nod and a smile, “We’re happy for you.”

“Yes, quite.” Deborah corroborated, nodding swiftly and curling her hand through the air, pushing taking her hat from her head and dropping it to the side; she turned, trusting Martin to keep an eye on the controls, and addressed Arthur directly, “Now, tell me about this woman that even your mother hasn’t met. When am I going to get to meet her?”

“ _Deborah_.” Martin scolded her, flicking his wrist towards her without making contact; she didn’t care though, she wanted to know what Arthur had been getting up to…from a caring vantage, of course.

“You can meet her when we get back to Fitton if you like.” Arthur offered, leaning against the back of her chair, folding his arms just to the side of where her head rested as if it were no matter at all; she supposed that from his point of view, it really wasn’t, “She’s going to pick me up from the airfield and take me to see a play at the theatre. The proper theatre though, not the amateur one in town. Sandra likes all the old plays, so she’s making me see them as well; they’re really good.”

“Sandra?” Deborah repeated, smirking and raising her eyebrows; she lifted her hand to brush over Arthur’s wrist, flicking the buttons of his cuff with her nails, “A taste for old plays? She sounds intriguing.”

“She _is_.” Arthur agreed, nodding vehemently as his turned his wrist under her touch; his eyes took on a glazed appearance, as he gazed into the middle distance, “She’s studying to be a historian, or a history teacher…or a history writer…definitely not one of those people that dig for lost cities.”

“You mean archaeologists?” Martin suggested, his brow furrowing as he caught Arthur’s attention.

“Yep, those ones.” Arthur replied, pursing his lips and nodding sagely; all that he seemed capable of doing was nodding, as if he were so overcome with his positivity that his body couldn’t accept a shake or a shrug, “Sandra’s not one of those.”

“She sounds remarkable…” Deborah mused thoughtfully, turning her tongue against her teeth so as not to say exactly what was on her mind; she couldn’t quite imagine Arthur with the type of woman that she was picturing in her head, no matter how much she had accepted him into _her_ life, “Where did _you_ meet a woman like that?”

“At the supermarket.” Arthur answered, grinning, his whole expression lighting up; no matter who this woman was, she most definitely had his affections, “I went to buy something after your wedding reception, and I met her there. She’s really short you see, so I helped her reach something off the top shelf; she was so grateful that she accidently knocked over the whole aisle.”

“So Sandra’s a historian, who likes classical theatre?” Deborah acknowledged, slumping against the back of her seat; she didn’t linger on the scene that was playing out in her mind, focusing instead of the woman’s selling points, “And she’s dating you?”

“Deborah!” Martin scolded her again, but she paid him no notice; he was hardly the epitome of manners.

“I don’t mean it like that.” Deborah amended her statement, glaring pointedly at Martin; he _had_ to be wondering the same thing, “I only meant that I’m having a hard time spotting a common point of interest.”

“Oh, I like all the things she likes.” Arthur promised, completely unfazed; his smile was as bright as ever, and there was a bounce in his posture as he rocked on his heels, “Well, I do _now_. It’s just nice, you know, when someone’s really passionate about something, and you come away feeling like you’ve _learnt_ something.”

Something about the look on his face, and the sincerity in his tone, that made Deborah back down, and nod slowly; if Arthur was happy, then he was happy, and that was a far lovelier thing to take to heart than doubt.

oOoOoOo

The moment that they made it back to the porta-cabin, Arthur disappeared, presumably to wait for his girlfriend; he had been forced to promise that he brought her in to meet everyone, so while Martin sat behind their desks, scribbling away at their log books and filling in the paperwork, Carolyn and Deborah sat on opposite ends of the sofa, reading different sections of that morning’s paper.

The last hour before they had reached Fitton, Arthur’s behaviour had become…suspect. He was jittering and smirking to himself, making grand statements when asked about the flush in his cheeks and how clumsy he was being, spending more time with the passengers now exhausted from a weekend of fun, some still with paint on their faces, and whenever Deborah wandered into the Galley to ask him what he was planning, he just tapped his nose and ran away.

It was infuriating. Arthur was a terrible liar, but she had taught him well, and he was keeping his mouth firmly shut. Carolyn and Martin were sure that it couldn’t be anything big or exciting; so while they went about their jobs and shouted at Arthur and Deborah for getting in the way, Deborah sat in the flight-deck marinating in suspicion. She knew the man too well, for too many years, to think that he was just in a good mood.

When Arthur finally returned, thudding into the porta-cabin door as it jammed and he was forced to kick the bottom to make it swing open, Deborah threw her paper to the side and sat up straight, while Martin lurched back from the desk and hurried to her side, perching on the arm of the sofa.

“Hi chaps, Mum.” Arthur called out, waving his arm through the air before the woman that they could only just see had even made it into the room; he was hurried, and rocking on his heels, hastily digging his hands into the pockets of his coat, “This is Sandra. Sandra, this is Mum, and chaps.”

Sandra stepped around Arthur to stand at his side, and Deborah leaned forwards on her knees to take a proper look at her; it became quickly apparent that she was nothing like the other girls that Arthur had picked up. There had been nothing wrong with the other girls, but they just hadn’t been his type, not the sort that lasted when one half of the relationship was…well, Arthur.

She could have been twenty five or thirty five, and held herself with a restrained maturity that hung gently around her like a light breeze of calm and shyness. Her hair was blonde, and pulled into a thick and neat ponytail at the back of her head, that emphasised her green eyes and thin cheeks; the only marring feature were the faint bags under her eyes and the lines around them and her lips that suggested more of a frown than the nervous lilt of her mouth in that moment. There was nothing to be criticised in her jeans and black jumper that hung on her frame, hiding her figure completely.

The woman didn’t flutter or fluster, and Deborah couldn’t help but feel that she actually looked more contained and world-weary, _grown up_ than _she_ had at the same age; there was none of the desperation to prove that she deserved the space that she was filling.

“Hello.” Sandra stepped forwards and gave a little wave as she wrapped her arms around her middle, smiling wanly and biting down on her lip; Carolyn rose to her feet, and pitying the poor woman having to face the lot of them, Deborah did the same, tugging on Martin’s elbow to keep him in place, “I’m Sandra…Sandra Pinkleton.”

“Carolyn Knapp-Shappey.” Carolyn introduced herself, extending her hand into the air between them; Arthur nodded vehemently in the background as Sandra took his mother’s hand and shook it, managing not to quaver or burst into flames, merely humming in acknowledgement and retreating an inch.

“And I’m Martin – Captain Martin Crieff.” Martin lurched forwards and offered his own hand for her to take; Sandra’s arm was jerked up and down in his enthusiasm, but she took it in her stride without complaint as he threw his other arm back and hooked his fingers into Deborah’s sleeve, pulling her forwards from where she had stayed back to give Sandra space, “This is my wife, Deborah.”

“Yes…Arthur mentioned that his friends had gotten married.” Sandra replied politely, curling her arms once again around her middle, so that the loose folds of her jumper embraced her more tightly as she nodded, “Congratulations.”

“Are you sure it was Arthur that told you?” Deborah inquired wryly, offering a welcoming smile in an attempt not to crowd the woman; she slipped her arm through Martin’s and pulled him back to her side, “You might have simply heard it echoing from every mountaintop in Europe.”

“No, I’m uh…I’m quite sure Arthur told me.” Sandra replied, laughing slightly, though she didn’t sound as if she were entirely convinced by her own efforts; her air of reluctant exhaustion was only compounded, “It was one of the first things he told me actually, when he tried to explain why he was so dressed up for a trip to Sainsbury’s.”

“If I’d known I was going to meet you I’d have dressed up anyway.” Arthur remarked as he appeared at her elbow, beaming and fidgeting as he had been all day; he was distracted, his eyes on Sandra’s alone, but there was no ignoring the fact that he was on the precipice of giving up whatever it was that he had been keeping to himself, “Although, I’d have had to have been psychic, which I’m not…that I know of.”

“So you’re just stopping by to take Arthur to a play?” Carolyn asked, maintaining her cool and standing with her hands carefully arranged at her hips; it was the same balance of intimidating and indulgent that she used to test the nerves of everyone she might have to spend long amounts of time with, “I’ll admit that I’m mildly impressed that you’ve managed to curb his interests so; I could barely get him to read as a child.”

“Yes, we’re doing that.” Sandra nodded hastily, and her fingers began to play idly with the material at her elbows, noticeably anxious in the repetitiveness; she glanced over her shoulder towards Arthur, “But actually um…Ms Knapp-Shappey…um…”

“Sandra wanted to ask you something, Mum.” Arthur interjected cheerfully, whether to be helpful or simply being himself, it couldn’t be certain; what was certain though, was the fact that this was the source of his excitement, as his eyes lit up with the unstable glint that he often adopted when involved in Deborah’s schemes, “It’s a really good idea.”

“Yes, I…I don’t know how much Arthur’s told you about me, but I’m a historian; sort of, I’m studying the history of various countries.” Sandra started again, shifting so that she was standing on her own two feet, without leaning on Arthur at all; her chest rose as she inhaled deeply, and spoke clearly and calmly, regardless of her physical signs of anxiety, “I’m planning on writing a book actually on the recent history of countries across the world, and how the development of their histories are interlinked regardless of geographical proximity…and other things.”

“Wow…” Deborah remarked, nudging Martin in the ribs so that he would nod and ‘ah’ in appreciation as well, taking the hint rather quickly considering that he was watching the exchange through narrowed eyes; best to put Arthur’s new girlfriend at ease, and not scare her away, “That actually _is_ impressive.”

“And how does this relate to me?” Carolyn inquired curtly, suspiciously; she glared over Sandra’s shoulder, but it was impossible to truly frighten the man that she had raised when he was oblivious to the simplest of things quite often.

“I was wondering, actually Arthur suggested, that because it would really help me to visit a lot of countries in order to get a taste of them…” Sandra elaborated as best that she could, even raising her hand when Arthur opened his mouth to try and interrupt; he let her speak, and speak she did, all on her own, which Deborah rather admired, “That maybe you might be willing to take another body on flights?”

“Sandra could be a stewardess!” Arthur exclaimed, into the stunned silence that followed the declaration; Deborah wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, and when she glanced at Martin, he shrugged his shoulders, equally bewildered. Hiring new people hadn’t been something that she had considered in…well…since before Martin.

“I don’t believe I ever mentioned needing another stewardess.” Carolyn stated, no nonsense, as her eyes wandered between Sandra and Arthur, both of whom were at different ends of the spectrum made especially for measuring enthusiastic optimism.

“Aw, but Mum.” Arthur insisted, slipping his arm around Sandra’s waist as if that might make his argument more convincing; she kept her arms folded, but leaned into his side, smiling gratefully as he continued, “It’d be brilliant!”

“I can’t _afford_ another employee.” Carolyn retorted, raising her hands into the air either side of her in despair; it was true that they couldn’t afford a lot of things, no matter how stable the company was. It would be sad though, to see Arthur’s face fall if the plan that had been keeping him cheerful all day were to fall through.

“If it gets me abroad, I’m willing to work for free-” Sandra remarked innocently, unravelling her arms and winding her fingers together, hands extending imploringly; she wasn’t allowed to finish her sentence though.

“No you’re not!” Martin barked shrilly, making all four of them startle; when Deborah turned and raised her eyebrows at him, he seemed to realise that the eyes of everyone in the room were on him, and his cheeks blushed and he cleared his throat, but carried on determinedly, in his ‘captain’ voice, “You’re most definitely _not_ willing to work for free, _never ever_ , at _all_! You are not willing to work for free – dear god don’t tell her that.”

“We might be able to afford a small wage.” Deborah suggested, drawing their attention away from her husband; the way that Arthur’s face lit up was worth the wrath that crossed Carolyn’s, “We could manage minimum wage paid per hour she’s on GERTI.”

“Why are you suddenly so eager to help?” Carolyn demanded, keeping her cool for the sake of the guest; her glare would have made anyone else tremble, but Deborah simply hooked her arm more securely through Martin’s and smiled serenely, for Arthur’s sake, “I was under the impression that you hated new people; or is Herc just a special case?”

“I have nothing against new people.” Deborah drawled, cocking her head to the side and resting her cheek on Martin’s arm, ignoring his bewildered fidgeting; all the better for appearing unintimidating and imploring, “Come on, it’ll be fun…Arthur could use some company that’s his own age.”

It worked; or at least, Deborah was sure that it had. Carolyn rolled her eyes and turned her back on both of her pilots, addressing Sandra with a carefully measured expression, linking her hands at her front in a business-like manner.

“Sandra…how are you at dealing with the public?” Carolyn asked, and just like that, the battle was won; perhaps Arthur had been learning over the years, that the best thing to do was catch her off guard, “And not the nice public, the horrible public that throws things and shouts and tries to swindle you out of all your money.”

“I’m great with the public.” Sandra replied, seeming to gain some volume as her cheeks dappled pink with relief; the tension left her shoulders, and she shot Arthur a pleasant smile, “I used to work in a pub, and whenever the punters got out of hand, I’d just raise my voice and whip ‘em with my tea towel, and they’d be good as gold before you could count to four.”

“Good. I’ll consider giving you a proper interview.” Carolyn informed her, pressing the tips of her fingers to her eyes; with a sigh, she rolled her eyes and began walking towards her office without any further ado, turning only as she reached the door to bid them farewell, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to call the bank.”

“Brilliant!” Arthur exclaimed, and he rocked once more, hands clenching as if he were dying to punch the air; the motion brought his wrist into his line of sight, and as he read his watch, he turned back to Sandra and asked, “Isn’t the play soon?”

While Arthur and Sandra dropped into a hushed discussion over the time, and the rain outside the window, Deborah watched for only a moment before deciding that they could use their peace. Smoothing her hand down the inside of Martin’s arm, she drew his gaze to her and nodded demonstratively towards the door, a little hint…that Martin completely ignored. As Arthur hurried from the porta-cabin, presumably to fetch Sandra’s coat, Martin took the opportunity to accost the poor woman.

“So, Sandra…you’ve been dating Arthur for a few weeks now?” Martin inquired, cheeks flushed and smile stiff, in the polite way that only he could manage, as he slipped from Deborah’s grasp and fiddled with his epaulets in an attempt to seem disinterested; Sandra nodded but said nothing, unassuming as she had appeared from the moment they had clapped eyes on her, so Martin, in his typical fashion, ploughed onwards with an awkwardly truncated laugh, “How is…I don’t mean to be rude but…it’s _Arthur_.”

“What Martin means is that…Arthur’s an acquired taste.” Deborah interrupted, before Martin could say anything to make the woman’s expression grow more perplexed; as she did so, she made a point of walking behind the desks to retrieve Martin’s coat, and then heading towards the coat hook in the corner, “We love him to bits, of course, but quite often others…don’t.”

“I know what you mean; he’s…happy.” Sandra acknowledged, offering a faint little shrug as if to ask ‘what can you do?’; the corners of her lips curled up and she looked a little less tired than she had as her eyes lit up and her eyelashes fluttered, without making her seem silly or girlish, “But that’s why I love him, really, I do.”

“Yes?” Deborah replied as nonchalantly as she could manage while on the move; even as she lifted Martin’s coat behind him, and he fed his arms into their slots with only an odd glance and a sniff, Deborah couldn’t help but be fascinated, and completely concerned that perhaps this woman wasn’t loving Arthur the _right_ way. They had been through a lot together, and she would be failing him as a friend if he wasn’t the _right_ sort of happy.

“Yes.” Sandra nodded, and her expression grew more serious, more contemplative; her arms wound around her chest once more, and she ducked her head so that she might have been inspecting her toes as she kicked at the carpet, “He’s…he’s so happy, and cheerful, and so optimistic, and I…I’ve spent a lot of time _not_ happy, and I’ve never really been optimistic. It’s just…I’ve been…depressed, a lot, and I’ve had a tough time, but with Arthur…” she didn’t need to finish her sentence, as Deborah knew exactly what she meant; she could almost taste herself feeling the same sort of misery that Sandra wore on her every inch, years ago, but still within reach, “His whole view of the world is so bright that you come away from him feeling…feeling as if you’ve _learnt_ something…like my view of the world’s been made a little less miserable. It’s nice.”

“Yes…Arthur does do that, doesn’t he?” Deborah remarked, swallowing the fluttering pit in her throat as she tried not to empathise too much, but was unable to resist; instead, she comforted herself by giving Martin’s arms a squeeze and offering a hand of acceptance, “Well, Sandra, I wish you all the best. Martin and I are heading home now, but I hope to see you again very soon.”

“Do we have to go home?” Martin huffed, blinking in confusion as if he hadn’t realised that he had reluctantly put on his coat just as she had wanted; his eyes followed Deborah’s as she came to his side and wrapped her hands around his, and he leaned away as if to pull her back to the desk, “I haven’t done the paperwork.

“If you come now, I’ll make it worth your while.” Deborah murmured, lifting herself onto her toes and murmuring in his ear; she smirked as she felt more than watched his cheeks turn a deeper shade of scarlet, and he nodded thickly, humming under his breath. There was no need for any more persuasion.

With that, they left Arthur and Sandra to themselves. Deborah hadn’t been sure at first, but she clambered into the van with a thoughtful smile on her face. Arthur had finally done something completely, perfectly correct, and from the sounds of it, everything was going to turn out fine.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

If there was one thing that Deborah had never thought she would enjoy, it was manual labour. And yet, there she was, accompanying Martin on as many Icarus moving jobs as was realistic considering their schedule. Granted, she wasn’t doing much of the heavy lifting, but she was there in a managerial sense…and she got to see her husband, so often neat and tucked in in his smart shirts, getting down and dirty, flexing his not altogether unimpressive muscular structure.

It might have been a tad more fun if they hadn’t been bickering in the front of the van at two in the afternoon. Everything had been going swimmingly, and they were both exhausted, and Martin had oh so casually slipped in a line of conversation on a subject that he had failed to mention in the handful of free days that they had already had.

“You don’t have to stay at home because of me.” Deborah insisted, as she leaned back against the door, which no longer creaked under too much weight; it was a simple matter, and she wasn’t going to have Martin missing out on social experiences because he thought that he was being romantic, “If you want to go out for drinks with the grounds crew, then go out for drinks.”

In all honesty, she wasn’t sure why the crew had invited Martin out for drinks, or why he had taken so long to say anything about it. The latter was easily assumed; Martin wanted to go, but was troubled by the fact that he still didn’t get on with most of them. That was part of the reason that Deborah had stopped spending time with them herself.

“I don’t even like the grounds crew that much…I just…it was nice of them to invite me.” Martin enthused, cheeks biting on his bottom lip and motioning wildly with his open palms, in danger of hitting the steering wheel; only he could make such a fuss over something so small, “But, like I said, I couldn’t go for drinks with you, so I’m not going to go without you. It’s not fair.”

“You can’t stop having fun for the sake of fairness.” Deborah countered, folding her arms over her chest and fixing him with a pointed glare; it was sweet, of course, but there was no doubt that Martin would get bored very quickly, and she wasn’t about to let him miss out on living life while he still could. There was already far too much guilt to be dealing with, abstinence from drink and a loss of a job at Swiss air non-withstanding.

“It wouldn’t be nearly as fun as being with you.” Martin assured her, in his self-certain ‘captain’ voice, although who he was trying to persuade Deborah wasn’t sure; he averted his eyes and fiddled with the gearstick, waggling it where it sat loose in its box, “I’m sure they only want me there as some sort of zoo animal anyway – something to make fun of while I try to fit in.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Deborah sighed, even though it probably was true, to an extent; it was best not to think too long and hard about so long as Dave and Terry were at least _trying_ to include Martin. It probably helped that Karl had a soft spot for the Captain, not that he would ever admit it.

For a moment, neither of them said a word. In that moment, as the distant rumble of the main road washed over the otherwise silent van, Deborah couldn’t help but swallow the guilt that welled in her throat whenever they talked about going out, or enjoying themselves, hating that her earlier mistakes were affecting the extent to which she and Martin could actually _relish_ the rest of their lives. If only she hadn’t become addicted to alcohol, the two of them could go out every week and have _fun_ together, or sit in the bar after a flight and not have to worry about ‘toning it down’.

“You know what, Debs, I might bring you on more jobs.” Martin remarked out of the blue, breaking Deborah from her dark musings; as she looked at him, a tentative smile was met with a pleasant light in his eyes, despite the forced joviality, and she was infinitely grateful for Martin’s newfound faith in himself, that stopped him from being so ashamed of the way his life had turned out, “At this rate we could be done before four.”

“Well, I suppose it _does_ get me out of the house.” Deborah drawled, smiling wanly; then memories of how they had spent the first half of the morning resurfaced, and she couldn’t help but bat her eyelashes and smirk, “And I _do_ enjoy spending the time you…especially when the heavy lifting comes with its own rewards.”

“Yes, well, uh…ehem…” Martin stammered, his cheeks flushing scarlet as he curled his fist in front of his lips and cleared his throat, eyes darting from Deborah’s face to her chest, before leaping to the road, and then back to her; it wasn’t hard to see that he was caught between embarrassment, and the predicament of being rather pleased with himself, “We probably shouldn’t, uh…grope in the back of the van every time.”

“That was a bit more than a grope.” Deborah purred, as she reached out and traced the tips of her fingers up his arms before sitting back and watching him squirm; it really did make getting out of bed at six in the morning absolutely worth every second.

“Yeah, it wasn’t, um…i-i-it’s not very professional, either.” Martin replied sheepishly, biting on his lip as he ducked his head and tried unsuccessfully to fend off a smile; he lifted his hand to point definitively at her, waggling it in the air as if that gave him some sense of authority, “So next time you need to behave.”

“ _Me?”_ Deborah demanded, feigning offense and splaying her palms over her chest as she leaned forwards nonetheless, closing the gap between them; she couldn’t help but smirk as she leaned close enough that her lips brushed Martin’s ear as she murmured, “Now, Martin, you were definitely the one to start it.”

“No, it was _you_!” Martin retorted, leaning back, although he made little effort to turn away, as he raised one arm to hook around Deborah’s waist. It _had_ been him, tripping her up as they piled the antique armchairs into the back of the van, and then conveniently falling on top of her, as if he were ever so clever and funny; it had been about as _funny_ as when he had pretended to shut the doors on her.

“No, no, _no_ …” Deborah drawled, preening as Martin’s nose brushed against hers and he pulled her closer regardless of his probably genuine indignation, the menace; her smile grew softer as Martin brushed the loose strands of her hair behind her ears, making it easier for them both to see the other while she slipped her hands around his shoulders, “It was you, _naughty_ Captain Crieff-”

Then, as was just their luck, a shrill whining filled the air, and the phone in Deborah’s pocket began to vibrate before their lips could even touch. Deborah sighed and sat back on her heels, extracting herself from Martin’s embrace while he blinked in confusion; whoever was calling was going to get a right talking to…at least, that was what Deborah thought until she pulled the phone from her pocket and checked the id.

“Who’s that?” Martin whispered, as Deborah pressed the phone to her ear; he accepted her raised finger as an answer, and turned in his seat as if that might include him in the conversation.

“Hello Carolyn.” Deborah spoke loudly and clearly, in the hope that that might translate through a phone-line into something impatient and deserving of respect; it was their day off, and the agreement was that they got to have their days off…well, _off_ , Carolyn knew that, “What can we do for you on this fine day?”

“ _You can put on your uniforms and get to the airfield, pronto.”_ Carolyn replied, in the efficient, no-nonsense tone of voice that one can only possess if they forget that the rest of the world doesn’t revolve around _them_ ; in all fairness, Carolyn knew full well that her pilots’ lives _did_ revolve around her to some extent, and the power had gone to her head, _“I got a call from a very wealthy businessman about half an hour ago demanding that he be in Washington by the evening.”_

“Right…” Deborah spared a glance towards Martin, who was watching intently, eyes wide and nose tipped up inquisitively; there was no need to let him know quite what was going on yet, not until she had all the details, “That might be a bit difficult seeing as we’re both on a job at the moment.”

 _“This is a better job.”_ Carolyn retorted, almost cheerfully, as if she thought that such a thing existed, _“He’s paying twice our usual rate to fly as soon as possible.”_

“Carolyn, I think you’ve missed the point.” Deborah remarked dryly, holding her tongue so as not to say anything damning; it wasn’t as if they weren’t used to being called on at all hours of the day and night, yet for some reason there was a niggle in her chest that didn’t want to put up with it this time, “Martin and I are in his van, half way through a job; we can’t just drop everything.”

“Hold on, what does she want us to do?” Martin asked, shuffling across the van’s long seat until his knee pressed against hers; he was twitching as if he were considering taking the phone from her hands, which meant that lying to him probably wasn’t a good idea.

“Apparently there’s a businessman that needs us to go to the airfield _immediately_ to fly him to the States.” Deborah sighed, sagging under the weight of how good an idea it was, for both of them, to just agree; then she added, because it needed to be said, as she met Martin’s gaze, “For double rates.”

“Damn…we could use a bit extra to put in the bank.” Martin muttered, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he slumped against the seat; he looked as if he were biting the inside of his cheek in frustration of the fact that there really wasn’t anything that they could do, “Couldn’t we…we can’t pass this up.”

“You’re not tarnishing the reputation of your own business to help Carolyn keep hers afloat.” Deborah informed him curtly, lowering the phone and pressing her hand over the speaker; she waited until Martin nodded guiltily and stared down at his hands, before lifting the device back to her ear, “Carolyn, how long could we possibly leave it before we arrive?”

“ _To get there for the middle of the night, the latest we can leave is five hours from now.”_ Carolyn answered reluctantly, and Deborah could imagine her looking at her clock and grimacing at the potential loss of money; she couldn’t find it in herself to care, _“Deborah, this isn’t the sort of job that you can just skip.”_

“We’re not skipping the job.” Deborah assured her, pressing her lips into a thin line as Martin’s eyes lit up, and he sat a little straighter; she rolled her eyes and continued, setting her terms and sticking to them, no matter what the little voice in the back of her head was telling her was a better idea, “We’ll be there in four and a half hours, ready to endure the client’s wrath.”

With that, Deborah cut off the call and shoved the phone back into her pocket without waiting for Carolyn’s reply; she slumped back into the uncomfortable padded seat, and crossed her arms, trying not to scowl. Never in a million years had she thought that she would be risking a flight for the sake of a van job...but their lives had _changed_ , which meant that their priorities had to change as well. It was possible, given the indignant defensiveness that was stirring in her stomach, that they had already changed; the very idea of Carolyn disregarding Icarus made her want to punch her down on Martin’s behalf.

Odd…and a little worrying…but rather nice all the same.

“So we’re finishing this job?” Martin inquired, sounding unsure of himself; he had one hand resting on the steering wheel, but he was watching Deborah while the other slid across the seat to curl around hers, sweaty and warm, but perfectly stable all the same. There was no doubt that he would willingly abandon his van if he thought that he could be on a plane instead, and that most definitely couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“Of course we’re finishing this job – and we’re not going to rush it either.” Deborah replied, plastering on a smile and attempting to surge into action; all that she achieved was a concerned look, which made her lower her voice and sigh, clasping Martin’s hand in hers, “I love MJN, but Icarus is _your_ thing, and it comes first.”

“Since when?” Martin snorted, although he did have the grace to duck his head and grin bashfully, as his blush grew imperceptibly more solid for each second that he leaned against the wheel; it was a fair question, all the same.

“Since… _now_.” Deborah replied brightly, inhaling sharply and puffing out her chest; if she was going to be proud, then she was going to be proud properly, not half-heartedly or because she had to, because Deborah Richardson…Crieff…never did things by half, “I’ve just decided, right now. Icarus is _yours_ , and you’re my husband, therefore, its success is our paramount concern.”

“But MJN is-” Martin started to argue, even as he smiled and let go of her hand, throwing his own into the air; his loyalty was unwavering, a far cry from the first few…three years in which he had tried to escape time and time again.

“MJN could fold. Icarus isn’t going to.” Deborah remarked, as she turned until she was sitting forwards, and pulled her seatbelt across; it was a hard truth to face, but a truth nonetheless, “ _If_ MJN folds, we’ll still have the van business, which means that we’re not letting your standards slip to cater to Carolyn’s every whim.”

“Alright – fair enough.” Martin conceded, clearing his throat; as he looked away and mirrored Deborah’s actions, she was sure that he actually choked up for a moment, before he spoke with a certainty that only he could possess, “ _Our_ thing, though…it’s our company.”

“Come on, Martin, let’s get going.” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes and sighing, although the air in her lungs fluttered, and she had to force away a warm smile for the sake of maintaining her determined façade; she flicked her hand against his elbow, and Martin snickered and nudged back, “There’s a little old lady pining for her antique furniture, and a snotty businessman desperate for some pilots.”

oOoOoOo

It wasn’t quite dark yet, but it would be soon. After arriving late to the airfield, Deborah had allowed Martin to hurry her through the paperwork, and for once hadn’t put up a fuss; it was her decision that had put them in such a precarious position anyway, so she was willing to make up the work and get things rolling so long as they were off the ground and earning some money within the hour.

“So you’re not coming on this flight then?” Deborah inquired, as she marched from within the hold, straight into Carolyn’s path; everything was set and ready to go, and yet the crew all seemed to be buzzing around, scrambling to get things in order, panicking due to the sheer amount of money they were about to make, and the excitement of flying through the night, “Dare I ask why not?”

“Because Herc is flying back from Switzerland tomorrow morning.” Carolyn replied, as she fell into step beside her; although she was dressed for the occasion, and had her clipboard tucked beneath her arm, she would be going home the moment that GERTI’s wheels left the tarmac, “In all his wisdom, he’s booked tickets to the opera for the same day, and I decided that I wasn’t feeling quite rude enough to flee across the Atlantic.”

That was a relief, although Deborah would never admit that a slither of tentative caution had been creeping from her stomach to her throat. Carolyn staying in Fitton was hardly a new thing, but recently…it had been happening more often, and there was always an excuse. Deborah had never given it much thought, nor had she noticed that Carolyn was no longer the woman in her mid-fifties that had hired her…and yet, every now and then she would sigh, and rest her hands over her eyes, or she would groan as she stood, and Deborah was struck by the awful realisation that Carolyn was getting older.

It was ridiculous that she should realise any such thing, and she had never volunteered to give a damn…and yet, Deborah couldn’t help but feel something horrible welling in her heart every time the thought crossed her mind. Things were changing, but she wasn’t ready for that sort of change, and she never would be.

“Oh, that is lovely.” Deborah drawled, casting away any dark thoughts that were left in her head as she retrieved the clipboard from underneath Carolyn’s arm and made a show of running her eyes over the page; it wouldn’t do to miss a chance to tease her when she had so readily dangled the bait, “I’m sure you’ll have a whale of a time while we deal with the obnoxious client.”

“I won’t pretend that I’m not pleased to get away from Mr Lannister.” Carolyn muttered, rolling her eyes, but otherwise choosing not to react as they passed underneath the wing; she turned her head this way and that, scanning the area, “Where is he by the way?”

“Martin’s talking to him.” Deborah replied, smirking at the horror that flashed across Carolyn’s expression; their client, and the men that he had brought with him, weren’t the most appealing of people, and it had been an actual relief to walk away and do some real organisational work, “He thought that Mr Lannister might like to receive MJN’s apologies from the mouth of the Captain himself.”

“Oh dear lord.” Carolyn sighed, no doubt imagining the myriad of issues that Martin could cause when left to his own devices; as they reached the rickety steps that led up to the Cabin, Carolyn placed one hand on the railing and turned to face Deborah properly, raising one hand with which to gesture, “Have you filed the flight-plan?”

“I actually _have_.” Deborah remarked, just a tad proudly; it was awful, and embarrassing, but she was starting to feel as if Martin’s insistence on completing everything _by the book_ was beginning to have an almost pavlovian effect on her, to the point that she no longer tried to barter her way through the pre-flight checks, “Everything’s set and ready to go.”

“Good.” Carolyn cooed sardonically, until Deborah grimaced and pouted her lips; then she straightened her back, business-like in an instant, and nodded up towards the Cabin, from which nothing could be heard through the open hatch, “I need to make a phone call, so I’ll leave you to spur Arthur and Sandra into action…”

“Getting distracted are they?” Deborah asked, raising her eyebrows and leaning imperceptibly away from the steps; she was happy for Arthur, absolutely thrilled that he finally had something nice in his life that wasn’t directly connected to herself and Martin, but…the less she had to see, the better. It wasn’t as if she and Martin had done this and that all over the place…as far as Arthur was aware.

“Nothing like that, don’t you worry.” Carolyn assured her, as they exchanged wary glances, “The last I checked Sandra was reciting the history of Washington and Arthur was listening intently, neglecting his duties.”

“And I have to be the one to break up their little study session?” Deborah inquired coyly, handing the clipboard back to Carolyn as she dutifully stepped around her and only to the stairs; when she was high enough that Carolyn couldn’t reach her, she turned on her heel and leaned over the railing, “Is this your way of avoiding becoming the wicked mother in law?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Carolyn scolded her, although not as harshly as she could have done; with one last surge of energy, she wafted her hands through the air, and began walking back towards GERTI’s tail, in the direction of the porta-cabin, calling out as she went, “Now shoo! We’re late as it is.”

Deborah didn’t wait to watch Carolyn depart. It was chilly outside, so she hurried into the Cabin, leaving the hatch open to make life easier for Martin whenever he got around to actually boarding the plane. The first thing that she noticed, as she dragged her fingers through her hair and looked up and down the Cabin, was that it was eerily quiet for a plane containing an Arthur.

“Oh, hello Deborah.” Sandra’s soft voice seemed to come from nowhere, and it took a moment or two for Deborah to realise that the young woman was curled with her knees up in Row C, a hefty book open and spreading dust over the black of her skirt; she looked perfectly at home in her steward’s uniform, almost identical to Arthur’s, if a little slimmer, and she smiled wider than she had when they had first met as she closed her book and lifted it into the air, “Don’t worry, I’m putting this away.”

“I’m sure you are.” Deborah promised, as she folded her arms around her middle and tread lightly into the aisle, until she was leaning back against the row opposite Sandra’s perch; she made a show of glancing to the tail, and to the Galley, “Where’s my gallant steward wandered off to?”

“He’s quickly dusting down the Galley and making sure that the food and drinks are all organised properly.” Sandra informed her brightly, as she placed her book on the empty seat beside her and turned until her legs were hanging over the aisle; it was strange, but she actually seemed to enjoy working for minimum wage at MJN, even when her job was only really enough to keep one person entertained, “I think everything’s there, but he’s checking getting it ready.”

“You might want to check again when he’s done.” Deborah remarked warmly, unable to stop her lips from curling at the corners, although she did try to maintain an air of detached unconcernedness, “Is he letting you do the safety demonstration yet?”

“No, but I think I’m going to let him keep doing that himself.” Sandra admitted, her eyes darting towards the Galley, lit up with an affectionate glint; her hands rolled over her knees, and she pushed a hand through her blonde hair as she smiled, “Arthur’s quite proud of his little speeches, isn’t he?”

“Little…is one way of putting it.” Deborah agreed, cocking her head to the side; she hadn’t heard Arthur’s safety speech in years, mostly due to them being in different parts of the plane at the start of the flight, but she was well aware that the passengers didn’t enjoy them as much as Arthur seemed to. Sometimes, it _was_ possible to use too many ‘big words’…but, if Sandra liked it, then who was she to judge the woman’s taste.

Sandra nodded, and looked as if she were about to reply, but she was interrupted by the jangle of the Galley curtain, and the heavy footsteps that pounded down the aisle.

“Deborah, hi!” Arthur called out, waving and marching to stand beside Row B, one arm flung bodily over the back of the nearest seat; he was just as bouncy and excited as he was before any flight, which made it perfectly clear to Deborah that he had neglected to greet the passengers for the sake of learning about their destination, not that he seemed at all guilty about that, “Are we ready to go yet?”

“That depends on whether you’re ready to welcome the clients and get them seated.” Deborah replied, quirking her eyebrows pointedly at him; he seemed to understand, as he stole a glance at Sandra, who was looking the other way before Deborah had time to turn her head.

“Oh, right.” Arthur stated, and for a lack of anything else to do, he fiddled with the buttons on his cuffs as he addressed her, avoiding, as always, lying or conflict; he had been far too well trained, even if he still wasn’t very good at it, “Yep, we’re all set. I’ve cleaned everything, and all the food’s properly there, not like last time, and we’ve even got entertainment!”

“I dread to imagine.” Deborah drawled, and feigned a shiver, just so that she could watch Arthur squirm a little more; then she rolled back her shoulders and pushed away from the seats, clasping her hands together at her front, “Alright then, I’ll send them up.” Before she headed towards the hatch, she gestured decidedly at Sandra; she was more likely to take her advice to heart, “Oh, and by the way; I took a look at the clients, and while Mr Lannister is demanding, the minions that he’s brought with him are…just keep one eye on them.”

“I’m sure we can handle it.” Sandra assured her, nodding gracefully even as Arthur plopped clumsily down beside her; she said it with such resolve that Deborah almost, _almost_ believed her.

oOoOoOo

It wasn’t really a surprise to find that Martin and the client were in exactly the same place as they had been when Deborah had left them; nor was it a surprise to find Mr Lannister grim and stiff with frustration, while Martin stood red-faced, chest puffed out, hands clenched at his sides as he stuck his nose into the air as if he were balancing a lemon on its tip.

They didn’t even notice Deborah as she sidled towards them, as they stood either side of the porta-cabin door, facing off as if they were in some sort of classic Western.

“No, you can’t talk to anyone else!” Martin insisted, his voice shrill in his throat as he glared up at the other man; it seemed that the client had managed to press every single one of Martin’s buttons, and had no intention of stopping, even as Martin pushed the top of his hat down so that it sat more securely atop his ginger hair, “I’m the _Captain_!”

“Look, _sir_ ,” Mr Lannister retorted, adjusting his tie and pushing the sleeve of his expensive suit up to his elbow so that he could shove his even more expensive watch under Martin’s chin, “we need to be in Washington in time for my meeting.”

“Th-that doesn’t matter!” Martin almost yelled, throwing his hands out to his sides in despair, as if the world had truly given up on him; if he grew much redder, there was a high chance that they might be scraping their captain off the grass with a shovel, “We can’t go a different way, we can’t go faster, and we can’t – there are _rules!”_

“I’m a paying customer!” Mr Lannister exclaimed, jabbing at his chest with hooked hands, his eyes blown wide and his mouth open in an honest expression of demanding self-assurance; he was exactly the sort of customer that Martin should never have been left alone with, and Deborah knew that, with a pang of guilt, as she hastened her stride.

“And I’m the Captain!” Martin snapped back, dropping into his uniquely perfected, near-neurotic hiss, making a point of waggling his striped wrist as he jabbed at his own chest; despite the height difference, he made no effort to lean away, or look as if he wasn’t entirely willing to engage in a physical fight over the matter.

“Martin!” Deborah called curtly, as she hurried to his side; before Martin’s head even snapped up to meet her gaze, and his expression slackened imperceptibly, Deborah had bowled into his side, curling one arm affectionately around his own, while her other hand slipped around to press against his chest, holding him back as she blinked up at him, “Captain, you’re needed on the flight-deck.” Then she turned to the client, keeping a tight hold on Martin, and plastered on a smile, “Mr Lannister, if you could wait here, the steward will be down in a moment to show you and your colleagues to your seats.”

“But I-” Mr Lannister started to argue, staring between them, his mouth agape; however, his nerves had been rumbled by the rude interruption, and it was easy to talk over him, so long as she raised her voice just so.

“We’ll work on meeting your requests immediately.” Deborah assured him sweetly, as she pushed her thumb a little harder into Martin’s chest to stop him from squeaking indignantly; she offered the client one last swift nod, before tugging on Martin’s arm, “Come on, Captain.”

To his credit, Martin waited until they were almost ten feet away before he started to argue. His arms shot up to nudge Deborah’s away, and he turned to walk sideways as he confronted her, ignoring the bored quirk of her eyebrows, and the patient set of her lips.

“We can’t meet his requests!” Martin squawked, having the decency to lower his tone into a harsh whisper, even as his eyes darted over Deborah’s shoulder towards the client; he was one twitch away from wringing his hands, and running back to confront the man again, but for now, being right seemed to be his priority, “It’s not actually possible – he doesn’t want GERTI, h-he wants a magic space ship!”

“I know, darling, I know.” Deborah cooed, and nodded, and pouted her lips sarcastically as she lengthened her stride and slipped her arm through his, pulling until he was facing forwards and walking at her side, no matter how much he harrumphed; confident that she would win him over, she pressed a quick kiss to his arm through his uniform, “However, there’s no reason that we can’t _lie_ and tell him we’re doing as he’s asked, while carrying on as normal.”

“But that’s…we can’t…fine!” Martin stammered petulantly, but he did slow his frantic pace enough that Deborah didn’t have to speed-walk to keep in line with him; that didn’t stop him from grumbling, but then again, there wasn’t a force in the world that could, “Fine. I’m not happy about it, but fine.”

oOoOoOo

Despite its rocky start, the flight was actually going quite well. It was night now, and the sky was dark, so Deborah, against Martin’s protests, had lowered the lights so that they could ‘set the mood’; it wasn’t as if they could actually do anything other than fly, but it was a nice opportunity to sit in the dark and talk in a way that they might not if they had been at home…mostly because had they been at home, Deborah was certain that they would have been sleeping off a full day’s moving job.

Sandra and Arthur were as cheerful as always, popping in and out of the flight-deck every now and then, and darting in and out of the Cabin, ‘entertaining’ the passengers; there hadn’t been any complaints yet, so there wasn’t anything to worry about…yet.

Mr Lannister on the other hand was making a nuisance of himself, knocking on the door and asking whether they could go faster, take a short cut, and a number of things far more ridiculous than the last, as he rocked on his heels and jittered, before being guided back to his seat. His minions had been quieter, content to chat and read all night, which was a plus.

All in all, Deborah wasn’t quite as mad at Carolyn as she had been that afternoon.

Just after midnight, Fitton-time, the flight-deck door swung open, and Arthur appeared wielding two steaming mugs in each hand, a content, and rather calm demeanour cloaking his every move.

When she heard the swishing of the door, Deborah didn’t bother sitting up as she peered sluggishly over the back of her seat, but she did slip her feet from where she had been resting them just on the edge of the control panel; all the best for seeming almost professional. Even Martin had relaxed, fractionally, now bereft of his hat, slumped in his seat until the top of his head aligned with the back of the padding, turned slightly inwards so that he could better see Deborah as he talked to her. So long as he could reach the controls, he was happy.

“Hi, chaps. Coffee’s here.” Arthur announced, as he kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe; he leaned between the two seats, as they received their drinks, and didn’t say a word about the unconventional laxness about the entire set-up, and simply asked, “What letter are you on now?”

“We’re on Q.” Martin replied, perking up, a self-satisfied smile making its way onto his face as he took a triumphant swig of his coffee and smacked his lips; and then, because he could say so without lying, he added, “I think I’m winning.”

“Only because you’ve memorised all of the countries and cities in the world.” Deborah reminded him, as she shot him a withering, glare, ignoring the fond flutter inside her chest at the smug, stupid grin slapped all over her husband’s face; it had been her idea, of course, to name as many locations as possible beginning with each letter, so she shouldn’t have expected any less, “And because you can shout more quickly than I can.”

“Oh! I can do this one!” Arthur exclaimed, clapping his hands together as he thought; he thought for quite a while, his eyebrows knitting together and his nose scrunching up in determination, beffore he declared, “Quik-ikiki-jack!”

“Qikiqtarjuaq?” Deborah suggested, waiting for him to nod and clarify that that was what he had meant before continuing; it wasn’t a bad try, all things considered, she supposed…for Arthur, “We’ve already got that one. Martin banked Quebec, so we’re even on this letter.”

“I’ll think of more.” Martin remarked smugly, linking his fingers together and hooking them over his knee as he sat back and grinned at her across the flight-deck; knowing his exact knowledge of everything necessary to the job, he probably would win the game, with more boasting than was necessary, “Don’t worry.”

“Hmmm.” Arthur folded his arms and leaned on the back of Martin’s seat, obviously straining every cerebral muscle that he possessed; it was worth enduring the few minutes of silence that followed, as his mouth opened and closed, before he found the right words, “What’s that one painted on the side of the airline we were parked next to last month?”

“Qatar!” Martin exclaimed triumphantly, turning to pat Arthur companionably on the wrist; at least he was in a good mood, if nothing else.

“Damn! Thank you, Arthur.” Deborah muttered, pushing a hand through her hair and sighing as she slouched back in her seat; she only stilled for a second, before she rose to her feet, adjusting to the rush of blood to her head as she hoisted herself up, and turned to slip through the gap between the seats, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pop to the loo.”

Neither Martin nor Arthur put up much of a fight, ushering her away and into the Galley; they were probably going to use the time to think up more countries beginning with Q. Deborah couldn’t hold it against them. It wasn’t as if they had a chance at beating her on their own. Besides, it gave her a chance to check on how Sandra was coping; she had been an exemplary stewardess in the months that she had been working for MJN, but their average client hadn’t improved at all.

As quietly as she could manage, Deborah slipped through the curtain that separated the Galley from the Cabin, and leaned against the cold metal frame, folding her arms as she surveyed the scene. While the two minions were sitting in Row A, muttering amongst themselves, Mr Lannister was squirrelled away at the back of the plane, being served by Sandra.

“There you are sir.” Sandra said politely, as she screwed the lid back onto the half-full bottle of wine and passed it between her hands; she gave a curt nod, and stepped back with a professional flourish, dipping fractionally at the knees, “Enjoy the rest of the flight; if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ring the bell.”

Deborah was about to slip away as Sandra made her way down the aisle, back towards the Galley, but her attention was caught as the heads of the two minions snapped up, and odd smirks crossed their faces; it was the sort of scene that instilled a foreboding in the pit of her guts, even though there was never anything concrete to fear.

“Oi, gorgeous, come here.” One of the minions, red faced and sweaty, called out, clicking his teeth as Sandra passed the first row; it was only then that Deborah noticed the phone in his hands, prepped and held aloft, as if ready to snap a photo of Sandra, although he kept it propped on his knee as if that might fool her, “Let’s get a picture with you.”

Sandra paused, and turned on her heel, but made no effort to tread back towards the two men. Her face was a picture; taut, lips pursed, eyes hard and yet effortlessly polite despite the harsh glint held within them. The hand not clasped around the wine glass was raised and propped against her waist, and she didn’t even bristle under the silent snickers of the men.

“We don’t allow phones to be on during the flight.” Sandra informed them, a curt lilt in her voice as she glared down at them; she sounded confident enough that Deborah leaned more heavily against the door frame leading to the Galley, biting the inside of her cheek instead of stepping in as she had wanted to, “If you could turn it off, I’d be most grateful.”

“Aw, come on, lass.” The other minion cawed, waving his hand through the air in a curling motion towards them; he was wearing the sort of grin that deserved to be slapped away, “It’s only a laugh - give us a smile.”

“Sir, if you do not turn off your phone, and you continue to address me like that, I will go to the Captain and insist that he lands in the nearest airport.” Sandra replied, with such an air of finality that Deborah almost believed that she could do that, despite the fact that they couldn’t even divert for faulty equipment; Sandra rose up, folding her arms and glaring down at the men with such a heat that they quailed, “We don’t put up with rule-breakers, or harassment at MJN.”

“You wouldn’t actually-” the first man stammered, staring up at her with wide eyes, his cheeks suddenly bereft of any colour; it didn’t slip Deborah’s notice that the phone was subtly buried in his pocket, although he didn’t shift his gaze.

“Shall we find out what I would actually do?” Sandra interrupted, squaring her shoulders, shifting on her feet into a more definite stance; in that moment, it wasn’t difficult to see why Carolyn had taken such a shine to her. There wasn’t a force on Earth that could have moved her.

The minions must have known that too, as they both shook their head in tandem, slumping down in their seats and grimacing apologetically. Sandra didn’t smirk, or preen as Deborah might have in her position, but instead turned on her heel and marched back to the Galley. It was only when she realised that Deborah was standing in the doorway that she faltered, and blushed.

“Well handled.” Deborah remarked, offering a brief nod of support; then, she turned and headed back to the flight-deck, intent of sending Arthur back to actually do his job. Not that Sandra needed the help. She was going to make a fine addition to the family.

oOoOoOo

It was good that Martin was branching out a bit. When a group of pilots from some prim and permed airline had mentioned that they were going for drinks that evening, he had been reluctant to join them, but Deborah had insisted. Martin needed to expand his horizons; he was nervous, and clumsy, but if the hassle over Swiss Air had proved anything, it was that he was capable of anything if he tried. He just needed a little push.

So the two of them had gone to the little bar, and enjoyed the first hour together, before a group of middle aged men, all pleasant, arrived and gathered around. They were patient, to an extent, and Martin could just about maintain a conversation about the landing and vice versa…he was coping. And the lot of them were enjoying their drinks, growing a little tipsy.

It was…good. Deborah was pleased for Martin, and she was glad that he was enjoying himself. But it wasn’t quite her scene, not anymore. She slipped away with a quick kiss to Martin’s cheek and situated herself in the corner of the bar with a glass of apple juice. Every now and then she glanced towards her husband, and couldn’t help but…feel sad. Happy for him, but sad.

It was her own fault, her own fault completely, that she couldn’t enjoy that sort of moment with him.

“Is your, uh, is your apple juice really interesting?” Martin’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and when Deborah looked up, he was standing at her elbow; as she smiled, he slipped a hand onto her shoulder, and began rubbing small circles into the wad of tension beneath his palm, while his bottom lip was drawn between his teeth, “Holding lots of secrets?”

“I was thinking.” Deborah replied, letting her eyes sweep across the bar to where the other pilots were gathered and laughing raucously; even though she was sure that Martin was going to return to them, after failing to convince her to do the same, but she nudged the seat beside her with the toe of her boot nonetheless, “Are you having fun?”

“It was, i-it was fine, but I think I’ve had enough now.” Martin chuckled, sighing and taking the seat, to Deborah’s surprise; he leaned sideways against the bar, and slid his hand across it until he could trace the tip of his fingers over hers where they lay against the wood, “It got boring when you came over here and left me to fend for myself.”

“Only so much aeronautical banter they can take, huh?” Deborah drawled, unable to keep the smirk from her face or the warmth in her chest at the very thought; with a sigh, she placed her glass on the bar and allowed Martin to curl his hand around hers, relishing the sweaty warmth his skin against hers.

“Something like that.” Martin murmured, as the tension left his limbs and he settled down, resting his cheek against his free fist; his gaze was curious, as his eyes lingered on her face, and Deborah was seconds away from shivering under the intimacy of it before he groaned and let go of her hand, pushing his hand over his eyes, “Alright, Deborah, what’s wrong? Don’t lie, because I know that you’re going to.”

For a moment, Deborah considered lying anyway, so that she wouldn’t have to confront the words that had barely formed in her own mind. But when she met Martin’s gaze, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes…she knew exactly what was wrong, like a cruel flower blossoming out of a muggy niggle in her guts.

“I just…I wish I could have a drink.” Deborah admitted, shrugging her shoulders, and swallowing hard to rid herself of the tang of self-disgust that prickled on her tongue; it was her own fault, and she hated herself for even thinking such a thing, after everything that had happened in her life, “I don’t want to get drunk – I don’t want to be that person again, I just feel like…something’s missing.”

“Wh-what?” Martin exclaimed, his eyes going wide as his eyebrows leapt to his hairline; yet…his voice was low and tentative, and he leaned across the gap between them, until there were only a handful of inches between them, as his hand twitched towards her, but didn’t touch, “M-missing? How long have you been feeling like that?”

“It’s not a feeling…” Deborah prevaricated, dropping her gaze and staring at the back of her hands as they curled around the cold glass of her apple juice; guilt, it was horrible, but it was better than allowing Martin to think that he was doing something wrong, “It’s just something that’s been crossing my mind, every now and again.”

“Is it me?” Martin asked, quietly, sniffing as he shifted closer, until he was perched on the edge of his seat; it was horrible to hear, and Deborah didn’t want to see the dejection in his expression. Making fun of him on the flight-deck was one matter, but he couldn’t for a moment believe that he was a failure in the real world.

“No, why would it be you?” Deborah demanded, dropping her head onto her hands and propping her elbows on the bar, until her hair fell around her cheek; she pushed it behind   her ears, and stared at him, brow furrowing indignantly, “Martin-”

“B-but you’ve been sober for years!” Martin insisted, shuffling even closer and ducking his head so that he could look her in the eyes, his cheeks red from frustration; he tried to tug her arm down, but couldn’t quite manage, “What else could it be?”

“Martin!” Deborah snapped, immediately seizing her temper and inhaling sharply, as she dropped her arms and glared back at him; she had to bite her tongue and breathe, because it was important, so important that she not mess this up, that he understand what she meant so that there wasn’t _one more thing_ for her to regret, “Could you just…could you just stop, and listen, _please?_ It’s not simple, and it’s not you…”

“Deborah…I’m sorry, I-I-I…I’m sorry, I’m just not used to you being like…” Martin stammered, but he cut himself off; Martin peered at her, and his fingers wandered through the air as if to touch her cheek, but he withdrew before he could, and he nodded slowly, “Alright, sorry, I-I’ll listen.”

“Three sorrys? Thank you.” Deborah remarked wryly, smirking out a silent scoff; with one last sigh, she turned until she was facing Martin properly, and forced herself not to say anything…like herself, “Perhaps I worded it wrong…nothing’s missing, I just feel, sometimes, as if there are…shortcomings that are…my fault due to my problems. I don’t want to get drunk, or anything like that, but I…there are things…”

“What things?” Martin demanded, fidgeting fitfully as he stared at her; his doubt was written across his face, and only complete honesty would convince him that it wasn’t all his fault.

“Like sitting on the sofa of an evening, sharing a glass of wine with my husband.” Deborah explained wanly, spreading her palms hopelessly in the air; she sighed again, and shook her head, unable to think of how else she could say it without sounding like a fool, “I know it’s silly, but it’s important to me. But I can’t even have _one glass_ because I don’t want to risk having another, and another, and another-”

“Okay, I understand.” Martin interrupted, raising his hands in surrender; he bit down on his bottom lip, and frowned, shaking his head and this time he did reach across and brush the backs of his knuckles across her cheek, “Deborah, that’s not…I don’t feel like you’re failing me by not having a glass of wine every now and again.”

“Martin…think about it.” Deborah groaned, frustrated by how simple he made it sound; it wasn’t that simple at all, “In all the time we’ve known each other, and for the rest of our lives, we’ll never sit down, get a bit tipsy, engage in clumsy groping…it’s being able to do that sort of thing without worrying about the consequences. It’s the thought that one day my resolve might slip and I might do it anyway.”

“Your resolve hasn’t slipped yet.” Martin reminded her, hopeful as always, a faint smile quirking his lips. He had never paid much attention to her past; that had been nice at first, and wonderful later, knowing that for all of his faults, Martin didn’t judge her mistakes, only her perceived achievements, but now…he didn’t understand.

“But now that I’m thinking about it, it might.” Deborah admitted, almost a whisper as she leaned in towards him; there was always room for a mistake, no matter how magnificent she was on an average day. The closer MJN got to collapse, the more likely it seemed that Martin would find employment elsewhere, the older Verity got, anything could tip her resolve and erase all of her hard work.

“Is drinking really that important to you?” Martin inquired softly, watching her hands instead of her eyes when Deborah looked up at him; he was still, more calm than he often was at work, or in emergency situations. It was comforting.

“It’s not the alcohol.” Deborah replied dully, wetting her lips and sparing another glance towards the gathering of pilots, enjoying themselves, oblivious to the rest of the world; once upon a time, she would have been one of them, “It’s getting to enjoy doing the same thing as everyone else without the worry.”

“How about this?” Martin suggested, without even turning his head to look over his shoulder; instead, he shuffled right to the edge of his seat, and took Deborah’s hand, as he pressed his other palm flat against the bar, the only sign that he wasn’t completely confident in what he was saying, “You have one sip, and then leave it. And then if you feel up to it, a whole glass – barely enough to make you tipsy. Then you stop.”

“What if I can’t make myself stop?” Deborah insisted, clinging to the shreds of desperation that trickled through her lungs even as the air within them fluttered in anticipation; it was touching, but unrealistic.

“That won’t be a problem, because you’ve got me.” Martin promised, prodding his own chest vehemently as he stood and grasped Deborah’s shoulders, squeezing in encouragement; the light in his eyes was almost believable, and inspiring, “If you want more, then you just hold my hand…and I’ll make sure you can’t get any. I won’t let you go too far.”

It was so easy, just to look into Martin’s eyes and believe that he would hold her hand and everything would be alright. It was childish, and hopeful, and everything that Martin was; it was the sort of mind-set that had once had him kneeling in front of her, begging for forgiveness, in the honest belief that that made everything better. It was enchanting…and Deborah couldn’t help but raise her hands and place them over his, nodding into the space between them.

“Not tonight though.” Deborah replied, closing her eyes momentarily and letting the darkness sting against the exhaustion that dropped over her all at once, like the breaking of a dam; there was nothing that they could do tonight, and she wasn’t in the mood to explore new grounds in their relationship, but she could fall forwards, and slowly wrap her arms around Martin’s waist as she pressed her chin to his shoulder, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Martin murmured, as he curled his arms around her back, and pressed his lips against her hair; he sounded surprised, as if he didn’t realise that he needed to say it, because she should have known already.

Everything was going to be alright.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

It was incredible how a twelve year old could create just as much mess as an eight year old. Verity had only stayed with them for a week, a half-term break away from her father (who Deborah now knew had been nagging her, quite rightly, to do her homework), and yet now she was gone there still remained a clutter of paper and mugs, books left strewn between the magazines and coffee cups that she had bought over the course of her stay.

Of course, Martin had had to hurry off to sort out some problem at the airfield as soon as Chris had driven away, so Deborah had spent the best part of the afternoon clearing away, and then, because it needed to be done at some point in the next ten years, scrubbing the windows, shampooing the carpet, and generally making the flat look…well, _clean_.

Except, once everything was clean, Deborah found herself missing the mess. That thought was only compounded as with every inch of the flat she covered, she found something that made a smile spring to her lips, and an exasperated warmth fill the hollow in her chest.

Underneath the coffee table, just below the paint stain that clung to the edge of the wood from when Martin and Verity had knock over the pot the very first time he had introduced himself as her boyfriend to the then eight-year-old, she found scribbles, where Verity in her youth must have attempted to scribe her name in felt tip markers.

There were painty hand-prints on the carpet, just beneath the sofa, as if Verity had tried to hide them. When she pulled out the cabinet, Deborah found the legos that Verity had claimed that she had lost when she was nine. Tucked away behind the television, she found a carefully, if not shakily, drawn group of pictures that might have been an attempt at building a book. The longer that she cleaned, the more remnants of Verity’s early childhood Deborah unearthed…and it made it feel as if her heart was glowing.

And she missed it…desperately.

The same musing was still wafting to and fro within the recesses of Deborah’s mind when she was lying back on the sofa, and heard the front door swing open. Martin appeared as if carried by the hearty gust of wind that made him stumble as he pushed the door shut with his shoulder. Deborah had to hoist herself up on her elbows, dipping in the badly crushed cushions, in order to see him peering into the room, both arms held behind his back, puffy coat stretched around his elbows.

“Deborah! Debs?” Martin called out, as he wandered into the sitting room, glancing this way and that; his eyes fell met hers just as she was rising to peer at him from over the back of the sofa, and his cheeks flushed, his whole expression, from his eyes to his lips, lighting up at the sight of her, “Oh, there you are.”

“Here I am.” Deborah drawled dramatically, as she swung her legs down and onto the floor, ignoring the rush of blood to her head as she found herself upright and watching her husband pace across the room to stand in front of her, arms still held rigidly behind his back as he rocked on his heels, jittering with barely restrained excitement, “Martin, darling, what are you doing?”

“What makes you think I’m doing anything?” Martin inquired coyly, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth as he stood over her, smirking as if he had done something terribly clever; the rustling that his every swing produced betrayed his cause, but it was endearing nonetheless.

“What makes me think that you’re doing anything is the fact that you’re quite possibly the second worst liar in the whole of England.” Deborah purred, as she rose to her feet and sauntered up to him, tipping her head back as she closed the space between them; standing as he was, with his hands behind his back, there was nothing that Martin could do to stop her stroking her hands over the curve of his waist between the crooks of his arms, pressing her thumbs into the pleasant shifting of his muscles in response to her touch, as she murmured, “Furthermore, I can see you hiding something behind your back.”

“Oh…w-well.” Martin stammered, his voice dropping into a clumsily sultry tenor as his eyes lulled and wandered over hers, making her lick her lips; he shifted in her hold, but didn’t attempt to step far enough away that she wasn’t brushing against his chest, “It’s a surprise, so forget that you know that.”

“Martin…” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes and slipping back until she was holding Martin at arm’s reach; only her extensive knowledge of his petulant determination stopped her from trying to sneak a look at whatever it was that he was trying to hide from her.

“No, Deborah, close your eyes.” Martin instructed, darting backwards despite her obedient lack of inspection; she did as she was asked, and his voice grew both shrill and low with excitement, the perfect blend that he had mastered beneath his captain’s hat, “Good!” Deborah felt a hand close around her elbow, and she was positioned just as he wanted her, “Now open them! Ta-da!”

Deborah opened her eyes when Martin asked, as the rustling met a climax. From behind his back, Martin whipped out a bunch of flowers, larger and more extravagant than he could ever have afforded five years earlier, and wielded them beneath his smiling face; the light in his eyes softened, and it was impossible to be exasperated with him when he was looking at her like that, in the romantic, loving, slightly lustful way that he did on this type of occasion.

“ _Martin_ …they’re beautiful.” Deborah sighed, letting the warmth spread from her chest to her cheeks as she took the flowers from him, and made of show of inhaling their scent; when Martin looked suitably placated, she dropped them onto the coffee table and returned to slip her hands over his shoulders, pulling him into an almost hug, “You do realise that our anniversary’s not for another month, don’t you?”

“A month and four days – of course I know.” Martin murmured as he pecked at her lips, his hands sliding around her back to rub small circles at the dips of her spine; he shrugged his shoulders and pouted, sounding far too pleased with himself, “I just felt like doing something _really_ romantic, because I love you, and there’s never a bad time to buy your wife flowers…and this is the first night in a fortnight that we can actually have _fun_.”

“Does having a twelve year old in the next room put a dampener on your fun?” Deborah inquired playfully, pursing her lips and quirking her eyebrows as she bounced on her heels, eager to get closer whilst remaining far enough away to see Martin’s face as she teased him; it _was_ difficult to get up to _anything_ when Verity had the ears of a bat, and had developed the pre-teen tendency to abhor demonstrations of affection.

“Only at night.” Martin murmured, deliciously naughty as he swayed and continued to make soothing, ever so slightly suggestive motions with his hands; then he paused, and leaned back enough to stammer, eyebrows rising to meet his hairline, “B-but the rest of the time I love having Verity here – you know that.”

“Hmmmm.” Deborah hummed in acknowledgement, letting her fondness for him speak for itself as she enjoyed the pleasant rush that being embraced instilled in her; rubbing small circles into his shoulders with the pads of her thumbs, her mind wandered back to the same paths that it had been treading before he had arrived, and she lowered her voice into a tentative whisper, a tease, something light and airy as she tried not to look as if she were holding her breath, “Hey, Martin.”

“Mmmm?” was Martin’s only answer, a low grumble in the back of his throat; he was far too engrossed in gazing at her lips to formulate words, and in readjusting his arms around her until they were almost perfectly aligned for some intimate waltz, one arm wrapped around her waist while his other hand traced up the skin of her arm to clasp her hand, still swaying all the while.

“What would you say if I said I wanted one that we didn’t have to let go of at the end of the week?” Deborah asked gently, smiling as she spoke; for once, she couldn’t find it in herself to make a joke, or even attempt sarcasm, so content was she in that moment, imagination reaching into the future and plucking from it the best images imaginable, “Not for a long time, anyway.”

“I thought that was something we were definitely doing.” Martin replied, oblivious as ever as he rested his cheek against hers, lips curling upwards at the corners as he did so, “When we’re ready.”

“Yes, of course.” Deborah agreed, breathing a short breath of laughter and settling more comfortably into his solid warmth; then, because she couldn’t help herself, she lifted her chi so that she could whisper in his ear, theatrical and intimate all at the same time, “I mean…what if I was ready _now?_ What would you say?”

All of a sudden, Martin lurched backwards, and in the same movement pulled Deborah close, hands at her shoulders, gripping without pinching into her skin; his eyes were wide, his mouth agape, and he looked just the right amount of stunned.

“Y-y-you… _really?”_ Martin spluttered, his cheeks losing their colour, then lighting up in the space of a second; he seemed to almost still, although Deborah could have sworn that one of them was jittering, _“_ You want to have a baby? Now?”

“More or less.” Deborah remarked, smiling all the more as she watched Martin’s expression burst into life, as if it had been dead before, filling with light; she very much wanted a baby now, one that would break things and leave stains and create more mess for her to clear up, twenty-four-seven, without long absences.

“That’s…th-that’s amazing!” Martin exclaimed, squeezing her shoulders and inhaling long and slow, chest heaving as the two of them swayed and Deborah gripped at his arms, bringing them closer as Martin’s mouth flapped and words poured from his lips, “That’s perfect! H-h-how long have you been thinking about this?”

“A little while.” Deborah answered, and even though the thought hadn’t properly formed, she realised that it _had_ been on her mind a while; as she had cooked breakfast with Martin and Verity on either side of her, as she had prepared the guest bedroom, and enjoyed watching her daughter embracing her newfound and entirely redundant independence whilst wondering when she had grown so tall.

“Why didn’t you mention it earlier!” Martin demanded, grinning all the same; she had known that he would be pleased, there had been no need for trepidation beyond her own, and all of that was gone.

“Because…there’s a lot of other things to think about as well.” Deborah explained as best she could, shifting in his embrace and holding his gaze, relishing the blue of Martin’s eyes; the welling in her the pit of her stomach was nothing compared to the hot fluttering in her chest, and yet it was there, a constant reminder, “If we start trying for a baby, we’re not the only ones affected.”

“Oh yeah…b-but…th-this might sound awful, a-and you can shout at me later, but…” Martin stammered, and tilted his head from one side to the other, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth as he shuffled his feet; it was hard to be anything other than curious as to what he was going to say, as nothing in the world could have altered the joy that he was exuding, “I’d rather have a child with you than have MJN.”

Deborah lurched forwards into Martin’s arms, throwing her own around his shoulders, and pressed her lips to his, pulling him into a long, drawn out kiss; hot and wet and made all the better by the dizziness as Martin’s arms hugged tight around her back, and he tipped her backwards ever so slightly, swinging in response to the force of her bowling into him. When she pulled back, Deborah blinked hazily and gazed into Martin’s eyes in the inch of space that he allowed her to create between them.

“I love you, Martin Crieff.” She purred, stroking her fingers through his hair, as she brushed the back of her other hand across his cheek; she would never get over how drastically his priorities had changed, no matter how much of the prissy Captain he still was, after so many years, “I really do.”

“Hmm, I love you too, Deborah Richardson – Crieff – dammit, Deborah Crieff.” Martin shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, and pressing his forehead to hers as she giggled; a grin alighted on his lips when he opened his eyes again, “S-so we’re having a baby? _Now?”_

“Well, of course.” Deborah replied, pursing her lips dramatically and brushing their noses together, “I’m not entirely sure though, but I think you have to make one first.”

oOoOoOo

Considering what they were discussing, Carolyn was peculiarly calm; Deborah had expected far more of a fuss, or more mockery at the very least. However, facing her and Martin over the desk in her office, Carolyn was perfectly calm, and required almost no convincing at all before she was on their side, agreeing to what Deborah had thought would be the worst news possible.

“I understand, I really do.” Carolyn sighed, tenting her hands over the pile of papers that were almost permanent nowadays, surveying them with a far more wrinkled gaze than she had ever had before; her easy defeat, her refusal to argue, it was unsettling and Deborah didn’t know what to do with it.

“ _Really_? Y-you’re not mad at us?” Martin stammered, brow furrowing in confusion as he gripped Deborah’s hand in one of his, and leaned towards the edge of the desk with his other; there was no doubt that he wasn’t as struck as Deborah was by the gravity of Carolyn’s acceptance, “O-or the least bit annoyed that it’s our fault the company you’ve dedicated half your life to is going to collapse?”

“Martin, I realise you’re a berk, but you’re not that much of a berk.” Carolyn retorted, with her usual caustic snap, although there was a softened edge to her features that betrayed her exasperation as she let her hands drop palm up onto her desk, “Why on Earth would I be angry?”

“Because we’re ending your career?” Martin suggested, staring wildly between Carolyn and his wife, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing; he wasn’t wrong…their decision to have a baby coincided with the loss of her longest running pilot, whom Carolyn couldn’t afford to replace.

“You’re trying to start a family.” Carolyn exclaimed hopelessly, glancing to Deborah for assistance that she wasn’t going to receive; she shook her head and sighed again, folding her hands back together and regained her composure, “I can hardly begrudge you that…if it weren’t for the two of you, MJN would have folded almost a decade ago. I’m…pleased for you.”

“Not proud of us?” Deborah inquired, forcing an air of joviality into her tone that she didn’t quite feel; she was pleased, so pleased about what she and Martin were doing, but the thought of MJN ending, of how easily Carolyn was letting it happen…it didn’t sit right in her stomach, but her fingers clench around Martin’s.

“That would be pushing it a bit, don’t you think?” Carolyn remarked, rolling her eyes; she sat back and relaxed into her seat, eyeing the two of them over her desk, bereft of her usual bite, “Let’s face it…it’s time for MJN to come to a peaceful, quiet close, no matter what the two of you are getting up to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Deborah demanded weakly, retracting her hand from within Martin’s and sitting forwards, folding her arms over her knees; it was the same feeling, the same horrible sinking that she had felt when Martin had gone to Switzerland, that everyone around her was preparing for the end. The end wasn’t inevitable…they could go on forever if they _wanted_ to…

“It means that the circumstances, for _all_ of us, are vastly different from how they were when I hired Martin.” Carolyn explained matter-of-factly, as if she should have known, should have noticed the subtle shifts in the foundations of their company, “The fact that you won’t be able to fly once you’re pregnant is only the tip of the iceberg.”

“You know that I’d carry on if I could but…” Deborah tried to insist, whilst maintaining whatever indifference she still possessed, and yet she couldn’t help but feel as if she were pleading for someone to cut in and say that there wasn’t an inevitable end; MJN was her life, and that sort of thing didn’t just disappear, “I can’t bring another child into the world and then spend half my time in another country. Someone needs to be at home.”

“A-and you know I’d stay, b-but we can’t afford another pilot, a-and…a-and I’m going to start looking for jobs at other airlines.” Martin added, winding his shuddering hands together as he mirrored Deborah’s pose beside her, “N-not big ones; small ones, where I’m only gone for the day, and not for whole weeks, like we are now.”

“As you should.” Carolyn informed him sternly, with a definite nod; it was just like before, and she was giving up before she had even started the fight, and it just wasn’t right that she was giving Martin the advice he needed to bring an end to everything, “You should start looking _now_ , even if it takes a while for anything to…work.”

“Carolyn, we already know this.” Deborah dismissed her concern out of hand, wafting her own through the air, steeling herself without visibly holding her breath; the feeling that she was out of the loop was unsettling, “What _else_ is going on?”

“What’s going on Deborah, is that I’m…” Carolyn paused, and glanced at her hands, shuffled the papers atop her desk for a moment; then, as if the world were ending, and there was only one sad truth left to let out into the world, she said, “I’m getting old.”

“Nonsense-” Deborah scoffed, sitting up so fast that her back twinged, scrunching her nose in derisive confusion as she stared at the other woman; the amount of times that she had stood and listened to Carolyn telling her in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t an old lady, she refused to believe for a moment that she could have said such a thing now.

“I am.” Carolyn cut her off, her voice strong and certain as she raised her hand, demanding silence with one swift flick of her wrist; then she sheepishly pouted her lips, and muttered, as if she hoped that no one would hear her say it, “Also…Herc is retiring. He’s coming back to England in six months or so.”

“That’s even more ridiculous!” Deborah retorted, shaking her head, trying to dispel the welling in her throat, the constricting weight on her chest that was making the air in her lungs too sour to hold onto; it was completely and utterly wrong, to think for even a second that what Carolyn was saying was true, “He’s only…what? Early sixties? Plenty of energy left.”

“Deborah-” Carolyn sighed, but Deborah just shook her head all the more, shifting in her seat, overly aware of the hard edges as she gripped them; calm and composed was a thing of the past.

Then Martin’s hand closed around Deborah’s wrist, and whatever she had wanted to say was lost in a haze as she turned and met his gaze, anchored by the warmth pinning her down. He tilted his chin slightly, an inclination and an instruction to stop talking, and a reassurance that he was there, even though the knitting of his eyebrows translated to a lack of understanding that Deborah didn’t want to provide.

“So you’re thinking of retiring?” Martin inquired, keeping one eye on Deborah as his hold on her wrist turned gentle, but a constant weight nonetheless; the only comfort was that he sounded as perplexed as she was, cheeks blanched although he couldn’t possibly have known why Deborah was so distressed.

“Yes.” Carolyn replied decidedly, taking a deep breath as she sat forward and folded her arms over her desk; with a shrug of her shoulders she made it clear that she wasn’t joking, that she really had thrown in the towel, “I’ll be the first to admit that MJN isn’t the easiest airline to run, no matter how hard I’ve tried-”

“You could run it for another ten years if you wanted to-” Deborah muttered, slouching back and folding her arms over her chest, hooking one leg over the other, as she tore her eyes from the other woman and stared at the corner of the desk; she knew that she should have bitten her tongue and stopped fighting, but if she did so, she wasn’t sure she could maintain her composure.

“But I don’t want to.” Carolyn argued shortly, with far too much patience than she had any right to possess; after years of her sharp temper, it was utterly intolerable, and the hard light in her eyes only made it more difficult to look at her directly, “It’s time to throw in the towel, and get some of the peace that I’ve damn well earned.”

“You’ve definitely earned it.” Martin acknowledged, raising his voice as if he expected Deborah to look up and agree with him; when she only pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes all the more, he slipped away from her and rose abruptly to his feet, clapping his hands together, “I’m going to fetch Arthur and Sandra; they deserve to be here as well.”

The sound of his shoes thudding on the grubby carpet was enough to make Deborah lift her head and attempt to implore Martin to stay, not to leave her alone with Carolyn, but he was out of the room before she could open her mouth. The crack of the door closing made it ever so clear that she was alone. Turning back to face the desk, Deborah tried to settle down, letting her hands fall to her knees; the movement felt as if it unleashed shivers across her skin beneath her sleeves, and attempting to lift her eyes felt like lifting lead weights.

“Come on, Deborah, what the hell’s wrong with you now?” Carolyn demanded, slumping forwards, making her irritation all the more real with every inch crossed; she rolled her eyes and shook her head, and she just didn’t understand at all, “You of all people should know that everything _ends_.”

For a moment Deborah considered keeping her mouth shut, or lying; it would have been so easy after all to manufacture some false grievance…but she just couldn’t make her own petulance silence the itch at the back of her throat, the prickle at the back of her eyes.

“You’re not getting old.” Deborah spat the words petulantly, getting them away from her lips before they could mar her expression, or drag down her tone, and yet she could hear the brittle crack of her voice; the only thing that she could do was wind her arms around her chest and draw what little strength she could from the aching pinch as she fought the urge like a magnet to stare at the floor.

“For god’s sake – yes I am!” Carolyn exclaimed, with as much frustrated hopelessness as she could manage to put into a single gesture; it wasn’t enough though, and it only made Deborah’s chest heave all the more with the need to rebel against the sound of the admittance.

“No, I know what that means… _getting old_.” Deborah sneered, voice breaking completely as she buried her shaking hands against the crooks of her elbows; she shook her head, refusing to let herself think it properly, or even entertain the idea, the little voice in the back of her head, usually so silent, “I know what people mean when they say they’re _getting old_ , and you’re not!”

Dad had been old when he had had a heart attack. Granny was getting old. Martin’s father had been ‘old’ apparently…Carolyn wasn’t _old_. There wasn’t a single thing about her that was _old_.

“Deborah…” Carolyn sighed, and Deborah only lifted her gaze for a second to see the indeterminable look in her eyes, one that she didn’t want to decipher, nor, she was certain, Carolyn wanted to possess; after a moment of silence that could have cut stone, she carried on, far too stilted to be natural, “I don’t intend to go anywhere for a long time.”

“No – I’m sorry.” Deborah choked out, dropping her head into her hands and pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes so that she didn’t have to look at _anything_ as her composure returned in one fell swoop; all of a sudden, cold hands were squeezing her guts, twisting her stomach and carving out the inside of her lungs, and she felt ridiculous for ever saying a thing, for allowing herself to worry…young Debbie had been silly, but Deborah Richardson had never willingly been a worrier, and Deborah Crieff was no different, “I’m being silly.”

There was only a fraction of a second for Deborah to calm herself down, to lift her head and prop her chin up on her hand, her elbows on her knees, before the door banged open. Carolyn stole a cursory glance, but said nothing more; even she wasn’t that cruel, and…it had been years ago, under GERTI’s wing, she had once told Deborah how afraid she was of becoming an old woman, and trusted that nothing would be shared…it was time for her to return the favour.

“I got them!” Martin declared as he strode into the room, Sandra and Arthur hot on his heels until the moment he dropped back into his seat beside Deborah, leaving them to hover in the background; his cheeks were flushed, but he made sure to blink at his wife with the due amount of concern even as he spoke, “Sorry, I um, I filled them in on the way here.”

“No, no, that’s fine, darling.” Deborah murmured, batting her hand towards him, only to have him clasp it in his when she tried to return it to sit under her chin; plastering on a smile that hardly made it into existence, she allowed him to wind their fingers together over the arm of her chair, “Absolutely fine.”

“Good luck.” Sandra remarked, as Arthur was sucking in a breath; she shuffled up behind Deborah, who had the grace to peer over her shoulder, only to find the young woman, who no longer tugged her sleeves over her fists, but instead leant against the back of the seat, tentative nonetheless, “I hope everything goes well for the two of you.”

Deborah smiled again, and nodded, but didn’t say a word; in truth, she was grateful for the confident calm that Sandra brought to the company…hardly ever ruffled, and remarkably in tune to the mood no matter what was going on.

“I think it’s brilliant!” Arthur exclaimed, throwing an arm around Sandra’s shoulder and squeezing Deborah’s so hard that it jostled her where she sat, “I can’t wait until there’s a tiny person in the world that’s _half_ Skip, and _half_ you, Deborah! It’s going to be _brilliant!”_ his excitement was infectious, and was just enough to remind her why they were there at all; until he finally exhaled, and actually looked at her, then his eyebrows dipped together and his smile flickered imperceptibly, _“_ Are you alright Deborah? You look a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine, Arthur.” Deborah replied wanly, pushing his hand from her shoulder; she pushed her hair from where it had fallen over her face, and stole a glance at Martin, meeting his eyes for a moment before she swallowed the sour taste on her tongue, and made herself remember just how wonderful their future was looking…the rest quailed in comparison, “Thank you.”

“So, I assume that if Martin filled you in, you know that once Deborah reaches the point at which she can no longer fly safely, we’ll have to close down MJN?” Carolyn inquired, effectively taking control of the situation; it didn’t leave time for more discussion or exultation…just how things were supposed to be, ruined by the absolute acceptance of the end, no word of a fight. Deborah knew it had to end for them to be happy, but damn, she’d thought there would be a fight, to make her feel better.

“Yeah, but, that’s alright, isn’t it?” Arthur shrugged off the end of MJN as if it were nothing at all, as if he had been giving it a lot of thought; since he had already watched the rest of them fret over Martin’s departure for Swiss Air, he probably had, “Because they’ll have a baby, and we’ll all have each other! It won’t matter that we’ll have to get different jobs.”

“Because I can easily go back to waitressing.” Sandra added, slipping so smoothly into the end of his statement that Deborah realised, with a wry sort of glow, that they _must_ have been talking about the future together; for once in his life, Arthur had been planning ahead in something more than the abstract, and it was all Sandra’s doing, “I’ve got plenty of stuff to put in my books by now anyway.”

“E-e-exactly.” Martin interjected, clenching his hand around Deborah’s as he stammered; it was as if the only reason he spoke at all was to cheer her up, to make sure that she was alright, cheeks flushing when she let her eyes wander back to him, “Everything’s going to be fine…just fine.”

“Is it true that Herc’s coming back too?” Arthur asked, oblivious as always, as he leaned around Sandra to get a better look at his mother; Carolyn nodded, and conceded to a faint hum, lips pursed the whole while, but he didn’t read the warning signs, fearless in the face of such a wordless threat, “So…he’ll be coming to stay with you?”

“Whatever gives you that idea?” Carolyn demanded, puffing up like an affronted hen, shark-like demeanour sharpened to a point; she glared between Deborah and Martin, as if it were their fault somehow, and in time, both ducked their heads to stare at their joined hands. That was sure to hide the fact that Deborah was smirking, lightened like the rising of the sun by Arthur’s careless cheer, “There’s not enough room in the house for another person to live permanently. I’d have to get rid of you first”

“Actually…about that…I could go, if you really wanted Herc there, which I know you do.” Arthur replied, carefully, although not carefully at all; he was unabashed, never truly awkward at all as it was, but there was something about him, arm around his girlfriend, taking a serious part of their talks about the future, that made it hit home just how _grown up_ he was…Deborah hadn’t even seen it happening, “I _know_ you want Herc to come and stay with you.”

If anyone else had said that, they would have been scolded into oblivion. As it was, Carolyn completely ignored the fact that Arthur had said a word about Herc.

“Go?” Carolyn scoffed, the lines at the corners of her eyes scrunching as she stared at her son; her hands fell flat onto the desk top, even as she sat forwards, extending them in confusion, “Where would you go?”

“To live with me.” Sandra cut in, her voice soft but purposeful as she trailed her hand through her hair; ever so slightly, she leaned into Arthur’s side, and raised one hand to link her fingers with his where it hung over her shoulder, shrugging as she explained herself, somehow managing to sound as if she didn’t need to explain at all, as she met each of their gazes one at a time, “It was my idea…I just thought it sounded like a nice idea.”

“You want to live with _Arthur_?” Martin exclaimed, brow furrowing as his nose scrunched in disdain; he turned all the way in his seat, almost folding in on himself in his attempt to stare at Sandra, “I mean, I-I know you’re together but – I’ve shared a room with him – you want that _all the time_?”

In the time that they had known each other, Martin had had about as much luck getting along with Sandra as he did any other woman; the only saving grace was that he had no intention of seducing her, which meant that she wasn’t a source of stammering and spluttering and awkward faux pas. Nevertheless, with her quiet severity, happy despite adversity, like a pinprick of light peeking through the dark haze that was her general mood, she put up with Martin’s prissy pride, and he in turn liked her, despite not having much in common with her at all.

Deborah had had to break up more than one furious debate over politics that Martin didn’t really understand.

“Yeah, I do.” Sandra assured him, a gentle threat laced in her tone, daring him to say another word when the curve of her lips could tear him to shreds; the intensity of her gaze was enough to make Martin drag his bottom lip through his teeth and recede, blushing furiously as his eyes darted towards Deborah, begging for her assistance.

“Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Deborah drawled, blinking across the desk at Carolyn for a moment only before squeezing Martin’s hand and swivelling with lacklustre to face the happy couple between them; everything falling into place…everything coming to a peaceful end…

“So you really want to move out?” Carolyn asked, ignoring Deborah completely; on second thought, she and Martin should have left the room, let them have this conversation alone, but it was too late now.

“Yeah – I mean, I’d love to keep living with you, Mum, forever, but…I also want to live with Sandra,” Arthur explained, turning his free hand through the air in the same tumbling path that his words took; his sincerity was as undoubtable as the soft light that existed irrevocably in his eyes, “and I think, if I did that, and you let Herc live with you, we could both be happy, and still see each every day.”

“Well…I can’t argue with such an eloquent answer; especially not when it came from you.” Carolyn replied, after a pause charged with words that nobody wanted to make real; then, she inhaled slowly, and looked to Sandra with a smile, peering over Deborah’s head, “I…I look forward to seeing how you handle him.”

And just like that, everything was in place. The final decision was made, just like that, and it hit Deborah like a ton of bricks to her stomach that nothing was ever going to be the same…everything was going to change.

Nobody had a higher opinion of her than she did, but for once…Deborah felt as if she were the one lumbering on after the uptake.

oOoOoOo

Months passed, and nothing changed. True, Arthur began packing and was living half-in, half-out of Sandra’s nice little flat in the centre of Fitton, only a twenty minute drive from the airfield, Carolyn’s house, and Deborah and Martin’s flat. However, nothing else had changed, not dramatically, despite the ever sinking weight in Deborah’s chest that was only prevented from dragging her down by Martin’s giddy anticipation.

MJN trundled on as always. Martin didn’t receive any requests for interviews, despite his searching for vacancies at every small airline within fifty miles of Fitton. Deborah didn’t get pregnant…they kept trying though, on both counts. Every time Deborah flopped face down on their bed and buried her head in her arms, clawed by the prickling razors of doubt, Martin appeared like the ray of determined, stubborn sunshine that he was, and picked her up again.

The man hadn’t been through seven CPLs without a shred of integrity, after all; unlike their first few years together, Deborah actually believed in him now…if Martin said they could do it, then they probably could.

For the first time in a long while, they were on a flight that was just like old times. Just Deborah, Martin, and Arthur…it would have been nice if Carolyn had been there too, not that Deborah would ever admit to having thought that, but nostalgia didn’t pay the bills, and there was nothing that could be done. When the word game caught Martin in a rut, and it was past time for a coffee, Deborah sighed, rose to her feet, knocked Martin’s hat to the ground so that she could place a kiss atop his ginger locks, and then made her way to the Galley.

Arthur was pottering around, ignoring their two elderly passengers for the sake of mixing together something unidentifiable in a large glass bowl. Hopefully not their meals, although there was always a slim chance that Martin had done something to annoy Carolyn, and this was her revenge. Deborah didn’t give it a second glance, other than to sigh inwardly, and instead sidled up to him, slipping her arms around Arthur’s middle until she could rest her forehead on his upper arm.

“Oh, hello.” Arthur greeted her, slipping his arm out from under her and slinging in around her waist in the space of a second, smiling brightly, snapping out of his preoccupied haze; then he frowned slightly, as he looked down at her, and watched her prod at the edge of his bowl before retracting her hand, “You’re a bit weird today. I like it, but it’s still weird.”

“I suppose it’s only just hitting me that everything’s changing.” Deborah admitted, drawing an odd sense of comfort from the cosy isolation of the Galley; it wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t good either…she didn’t know what to do with it, “My whole life is…it’s getting torn up at the roots.”

“Yeah, but then something better’s going to go there instead.” Arthur remarked cheerfully, shrugging under her hold; he tapped the edge of his creation, and then pushed it away, giving her his full attention, “You and Martin are going to have a family all of your own, and you’ll see me, and Mum, and Herc, and Sandra _all the time_. Things like jobs don’t matter when we’ve got all of that.”

“Hmmm.” Deborah hummed in acknowledgment, sighing and settling against him, resting her head; then unable to let go of the trails of clingy nostalgia, she sighed again and asked, “How long have we known each other now?”

“Ooh…twelve years?” Arthur replied, narrowing his eyes as he gazed into the middle-distance; he pursed his lips as if he were thinking seriously, harder than he thought on the average day, “Maybe a bit longer.”

“I never thought we’d end up here of all places.” Deborah muttered, barely moving other than to trace her eyes over the cluttered and yet oddly sparse steel counter, littered with Arthur’s debris; it looked the same as it had on her first day, and yet the walls could have told a thousand stories had they the tongues on which to form words, “Do you ever wish that things could go back to the way they were before? Before Martin, and before we knew there wasn’t much money…when it was just the two of us, most of the time.”

It was an odd thought, a train of musings that Deborah had only tread once, earlier that day. There wasn’t a single thing in the world that could make her wish Martin gone; her life had become _better_ the moment that they met, even if it didn’t seem like it at the time. And yet, with the shifts in her reality, she found herself longing for the lost and familiar past…then drowning in guilt for thinking such a thing.

“Do you?” Arthur asked, in the place of an answer as he peered down at her; one glance upwards and it was clear that he was having one of his bursts of clarity. There was no arguing with him when he was in those moods, and Deborah didn’t have the energy to try.

“Sometimes…” Deborah sighed, staring at the counter and considering pulling away, but choosing not to; it might even help her to talk about it, even if Arthur wasn’t a veritable font of wisdom, if he could provide her with some of his ever-lasting optimism, “Is that really awful?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Arthur replied sagely, shaking his head and pursing his lips; with the ten years that he had aged, although he still looked like an excitable puppy most of the time, it was easier to see his mother in the thoughtful lines of his face, “I love what we have now, and I know you love Skip, but…I guess I do sort of miss the way that we were friends before. It was a different sort of friends.”

“Yes.” Deborah agreed quietly, nodding against his side, inhaling slowly, but her mind had been successfully turned; it had been different, but…things were good now. There was no point in lingering on the past, or denying what was going on…if Arthur could accept the way that things were, then it would be silly for her to prove that she were less mature than he.

“I can’t wait to meet your baby.” Arthur remarked, almost out of the blue, and his arm tightened around her waist to give a companionable little squeeze; his voice was filled with a wonder that only he could manufacture, which was touching.

“Oh, calm down.” Deborah scolded him lightly, ignoring the warmth settling in her chest as she pushed away and extracted herself; that was enough soppy conversation for one day, at least when Martin was waiting in the flight-deck, probably wondering what was keeping her but unable to do anything when he had to fly the plane, “It hasn’t even been made yet.”

oOoOoOo

The time had finally arrived, and Herc was officially a resident of the United Kingdom once again. Of course, Carolyn had shut down any conversation on the matter, even though Martin had somehow ended up transporting Herc’s possessions to her house free of charge; nothing could convince her to admit that she was pleased, and the rest of them were wise enough to keep their mouths shut…to an extent.

And of course, Herc insisted that they all visit a charming little restaurant in Fitton to celebrate. It was intolerable, it really was, but Deborah put on a dress and went along regardless; it would make Martin happy.

“Thank you, really.” Herc announced, as he stood like a pillock, looking over the heads of the group where they sat around the wide round table, glass of wine in his hand; he probably thought that he was holding their attention like the smarmy git that he thought himself to be, “I can’t say how grateful I am that you all came tonight-”

“Oh, dear lord.” Deborah groaned, placing her glass of orange juice onto the fancy table top as she slouched back until she could feel the warm weight of Martin’s arm around her shoulders; their chairs were tilted together to bring them nearer, just as Sandra’s and Arthur’s were on the other side of the table, giving the whole occasion a sense of familiarity, something cosy, “You’re not going to give a speech, are you?”

“ _Deborah_.” Martin scolded her lightly, tracing the back of his knuckles over the curve of her neck, as Herc offered her a condescending glare, his serene smile fixed in place; with no reason to carry on, Deborah tipped her arm up and caught Martin’s hands in the tips of her fingers, smirking, but keeping quiet.

“No, I’m not going to give a speech.” Herc remarked dryly, readjusting his grip on his glass, raising it into the air in the perfect act of a man about to delve into a speech or a toast; inhaling slowly, he was doing a good job at keeping his patience intact, which only made it all the more funny to interrupt him.

“Aw, I was looking forward to a speech.” Arthur exclaimed, tugging on his tie as he slumped back; Deborah suspected that the relative neatness of his attire was in part due to Sandra’s influence, but he would never appear entirely comfortable in it, even though he preened at the appraising comments Carolyn had made on the subject, “Good speeches are brilliant, especially when they’re made by someone you know.”

“Oh, please.” Carolyn scoffed, taking a liberal sip of her wine as she rolled her eyes and smiled pointedly, shark-like, at Herc, feigning a bobbing toast before sipping again; it was all in good faith though, that much was obvious, “The last thing we need is Herc waffling on; he does enough of that already.”

“If I could continue-” Herc declared, raising his voice in polite degrees, his expression growing more good-naturedly stilted as he turned his head in time with the conversation, eyes darting from one person to the other; only to find himself cut off once again.

“I actually thought that talk he gave about the rights of young people in pre-war Britain was quite interesting.” Sandra interjected, leaning forwards against the table, folding her arms to prop herself up; she was still as lucid as she had been when they had entered the restaurant, and it hadn’t passed Deborah’s notice that when Arthur had, in his typical fashion, ordered pineapple juice, she had done the same with only a sheepish nod to the waiter.

“That wasn’t a talk; that was just him being difficult after I said that life would be so much easier if I could hire twelve year olds.” Carolyn retorted, snorting as she rolled her eyes and swayed slightly in her seat; at least she was enjoying herself, making the most of every special occasion in the impending end of MJN, “They’d be far cheaper than this lot.”

“I doubt even a twelve year old would be stupid enough to work for less than I did.” Martin muttered, a small smile curling the corner of his lips beneath his flushed cheeks, as he rested his cheek against Deborah’s hair; he was holding back on the alcohol just enough that he wouldn’t pass tipsy, but it didn’t take a lot to make him relax into a more affectionate Martin, unconcerned about what everyone else was doing.

“Martin, darling, nobody’s stupid enough to work for less than you did.” Deborah drawled, turning his fingers over in hers and sparing him a fleeting glance over her shoulder; he huffed indignantly, but her contentment was a steady simmer in the pit of her stomach, “That’s one of the many reason’s you’re one of a kind.”

“If you’re all done!” Herc interrupted, loud enough to cause silence to ripple through the tables either side of them as well; when the eyes of everyone were focused on him, slowly but surely, he ploughed onwards, “I just wanted to say that I am immensely grateful that all of you came to celebrate my retirement with me tonight, and that now I’m settled here in Fitton, I look forward to having you all be a part of my life, as you’ve all allowed me to be a part of yours.”

“How ridiculously soppy.” Carolyn scoffed, shaking her head as Herc sat down beside her; Deborah caught a glimpse of her hand patting his wrist though, even as the older woman glanced pointedly at her for corroboration.

“It really was ridiculous.” Deborah agreed, quirking her eyebrows as she allowed her eyes to wander to Herc’s; moving on would have been so much easier had everyone just pretended that nothing was happening. The moment that emotions were introduced into the equation, as Herc was wont to do, everything became all that more painful, and all the more mock-worthy.

“I’ll drink to that.” Carolyn snorted, raising her glass into the air before doing just that; her smile softened into something more genuine, a glimmer of pleasure brought about only when she was at the top of the heap.

If Deborah could take one thing from that night…she was glad that Carolyn was happy. Nobody deserved that more than her.

oOoOoOo

It wasn’t often that the two of them went out for the evening, for dinner and a small drink, monitored of course, but Deborah had corralled Martin into removing his sweaty clothes and slipping into something more elegant, and reserved a table for two at a quaint little Chinese establishment a short walk from Fitton’s high-street. It was a special occasion after all.

They talked, and laughed, and Deborah’s toes found Martin’s shin under the table, and for a little while they forgot about the rest of the world and just enjoyed playing games and gazing stupidly at one another over the flickering heat of the candle.

“I’m about ready to turn in for the night.” Martin remarked as Deborah closed the front door behind him, blocking out the dark wash of late night, and closing the warm bubble of their flat, heating still on from when they went out; he lazily whipped his coat from his shoulders and flung it over the coat-hook, turning back to beam at her, “What do you say? Cuddle on the sofa then straight to bed?”

“Sounds like a plan. First though…Martin…” Deborah crossed the room, not bothering to do more than unbutton her coat as she slipped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close; she reached  up on her toes and murmured in his ear, grasping the flurry of anticipation that roared in her chest, clamouring to escape since the early morning, “Do you want to hear something nice? Something I learnt today?”

“Learnt where?” Martin asked, scrunching his nose up as he leaned back, resting his hands at her waist as he scanned her face; he turned his head, as if expecting something to appear in the sitting room that hadn’t been there before, “You were here all day.”

“I _was_ here all day, well remembered.” Deborah purred, smirking as Martin rolled his eyes and blushed, giving her waist a little tug to make a point; it was endlessly endearing, and just like that she was filled with the welling, raging sense of _rightness_ that settled in the marrow of her very bones, and couldn’t do a single thing but take pity on him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaning back and saying in almost a whisper, “I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Martin stammered, mouth flapping open and closed; it was nearly possible to see realisation hit home in the light in his eyes, as he stared at Deborah as if she were the most beautiful thing in the world, hands digging painfully into the curve of her waist, “Really? A-as in really, really, _really_ pregnant?”

“About as pregnant as it’s possible to get at this stage.” Deborah replied, unable to keep the grin from creeping to rest at her cheeks, although she fought the temptation to lurch forwards and wrap her arms around her husband; this moment, the absolute stunned wonderment on his face, it was worth every second of angst leading up to it. The future didn’t seem quite so daunting when Martin was practically vibrating with excitement.

“I can’t believe this.” Martin breathed, a low rumble on the tip of his tongue that seemed to resonate through his chest, until Deborah could feel him wobbling on the precipice in the way that he pulled her closer, stared into her eyes, “I-I-I-I c-can’t believe it!” just like that, Martin’s arms were tight around her back, gripping, clinging, lifting her from her feet and into the air as he turned a clumsy circle, swinging her around; she felt his lips press hot against the curve of her neck, and Deborah could only see the red of his cheeks, the width of his smile in the flurry of movement, “We’re having a baby! An actual baby! We’re doing it!”

For once, she had nothing to add. For once, Martin summed up how she was feeling perfectly.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Days may pass, kingdoms may fall, tin-pot airlines might fold gracefully of their own accord, but one thing that would never change was the drudgery that came with a week’s worth of standbys. It had been bad enough when the crew had been shiny and new and biting at each other’s throats for the sake of entertainment…it was even worse with a growing stomach and the never ending sensation that one might be hit by a dizzy spell, or grow tired from an unexpected blast of nausea.

If one more person told Deborah that she was glowing, she would strap them to the underside of GERTI and drown them via emergency sea-landing. Not that she had given it much thought…or calculated just how much force would be needed to subdue Hercules Shipwright.

It wasn’t so terrible. The porta-cabin was quiet at least; Martin had disappeared a while ago, and Carolyn and Arthur were doing… _something_ that Deborah didn’t care for. It was Sandra’s last day working for MJN after her decision to bow out and spare them her wages, and the young woman was once again proving herself to be a perfectly pleasant companion, content to sit and type up whatever historical work of genius she was working on at the time…Arthur had found chosen very well.

“Is it weird?” Sandra inquired, her light voice the first sound in about an hour, ringing across the room from where she was perched behind Martin’s desk, quaint little laptop open in front of her; as Deborah looked up from the sofa, she smiled and elaborated, peering over the top of her screen, “Being pregnant I mean.”

“Not as weird as it was the first time.” Deborah remarked, shifting for the first time since she had sunk back into the cushions and crossed one leg over the other, making the most of it before she’d been large to arrange herself as such; it had been taking her far too long to complete the crossword spread open on her lap, so she grasped the opportunity to smirk and tease Sandra while she could, “Why? Don’t tell me you’re planning so far ahead already?”

“God no.” Sandra snorted, shaking her head as she trailed the tips of her fingers through her hair, before placing both hands on her keyboard, as if to demonstrate that their conversation was not a serious one, “I’m just curious…you look really happy.”

“You should see me in the mornings.” Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall closed to indulge in a moment of darkness as she recalled the now daily struggle to even get out of the bathroom of a breakfast time; plastering on a smile, she opened her eyes and fixed Sandra with a sardonic stare, “What’s it like living with Arthur? I’ve always wondered, but I’ve never been brave enough to try and share a room with him.”

“It’s lovely…he’s lovely.” Sandra replied softly, blinking shyly as she focused upon the laptop screen, twitching ever so slightly as she fidgeted; she was never one to hold back what she thought, but she wasn’t the most revealing of women either; it was always hit and miss as to which snippets of her relationship she would share, an innate defensiveness in regards to every bad word anyone had to say about Arthur, “He’s no messier than I am – you know how clumsy _I_ am – and he’s so helpful, and…yeah.”

“That’s _nice_.” Deborah drawled, quirking her eyebrows and smirking all the more as she dropped her paper to the floor and folded her hands over the protrusion that was her abdomen; god only knew that the woman had to be a saint to live with Arthur, with nerves that had only previously been seen in his mother.

“What are you going to do when the baby gets here?” Sandra asked, changing the subject abruptly away from herself with nothing more than a genuinely pleasant smile as her fingers set about clacking rhythmically on her keyboard again, “In terms of a job?”

“I have no idea.” Deborah answered honestly, even though the admission left a sour taste on her tongue and turned her smirk into a frown; her new life with Martin was wonderful, but it didn’t half come with a lot of redundancy, and even greater feelings of uselessness, bordering on the anticipation of madness if she didn’t find something to do when the baby stopped being a baby and grew too old to need her constant attention.

“Have you thought about being a stay at home Mum?” Sandra suggested grimly, widening her eyes dramatically; to say that she sounded as if she hated the idea herself wouldn’t have been an understatement.

“Can you really imagine me trapped at home forever with nothing to do?” Deborah scoffed, ignoring the flicker of warmth in her chest at the idea; she had already given up smuggling, reckless schemes, daring social parties…the longer she knew Martin, loved Martin, the more she seemed to realise that she was more of herself when at ease than when forcing a persona to dazzle an adoring public…still, she needed _fun_ , “No…I’ll need something, eventually…I need to work out what I’m actually qualified to do…what I can fit around childcare…”

Before Sandra could say anything, or Deborah could do more than notice the way that her hand had settled over her stomach, unconsciously rubbing small circles against the mass beneath her skin, the door cracked open, catching on the rusting lock. There was no more time for contemplation, and if Deborah was honest with herself, she didn’t want to think about the future anymore. It would be wrong to mar her joyful anticipation with anything darker…Martin would never understand.

“I take it the client hasn’t called yet?” Carolyn demanded airily, as she marched into the room and headed directly for Deborah’s desk, rooting through the piles of paperwork that Martin had assembled for her; she spared Deborah only the most fleeting of glances, as Arthur dropped down onto the sofa beside her, peering over Sandra’s shoulder to see what she was doing.

“I’m afraid not.” Deborah drawled, making a show of rolling her shoulders back and slouching to hide her sudden realisation that she had completely forgotten she was supposed to be listening for the phone; damn…and she had really hoped that this second pregnancy wouldn’t involve any lapses in her genius, “All the better for sitting around doing absolutely nothing.”

“Well, it’s alright for some.” Carolyn muttered, shaking her head and tutting, although there was no heat behind the gesture; her expression was one of preoccupation, distracted and busy as she located the document she wanted and raised it dramatically into the air, “The rest of us are up to our eyeballs preparing for MJN’s imminent bowing out.”

“I take it you’ve spoken to the grounds crews then?” Deborah asked, coyly, balancing her genuine interest with the niggle in the base of her throat that was wondering just how irritable her old pals as a result; it was easier to hide in the porta-cabin and pick distractedly at her thumbnails than force herself to smile and interact with the boisterous, but otherwise pleasant grounds crew.

“Oh yes.” Carolyn replied, grimacing as she straightened up and wandered across the room to pace as she looked through the papers that she had retrieved; she would probably decide that Martin had done it wrong and redo it anyway, adding to her workload, “They’re not happy about losing the only stable airline that actually uses this airfield, but there’s not a lot they can do about it.”

“Still, they can still be the things they always wanted to be.” Arthur interjected cheerfully, as he slouched back into the cushions and smiled serenely; there wasn’t a shadow in his expression to suggest that he was anything but hopeful for the future now that he had gotten over the initial tremors of fear, “Terry can still be a fireman, Dirk can still be a groundskeeper, Karl can still be an ATC man.

“Within reason, yes, Arthur.” Deborah remarked, quirking her eyebrows as she shifted until her back was against the arm of the sofa, all the better to view him at the same time as Sandra and his mother’s pacing, “I’m sure each and every member of Fitton airfield’s grounds crew is living the dream.”

“Quite.” Carolyn agreed in an undertone as her suit swished past the sofa; then she turned abruptly, lowering the pages in her hands and peered at Deborah from across the room, lines at the corners of her eyes as she pursed her eyes, “I thought you were friends with them, Deborah; couldn’t you talk them around?”

“I don’t know if I’d say _friends_.” Deborah sighed, lowering her gaze so that she could stare at the backs of her hands; she could just about recall the last time she had met up with the ‘lads’, and she could definitely recall spending most of it wishing that Martin and Arthur would crash the plane while stationary so that she didn’t have to listen to any more tedious banter, “Long term acquaintances, perhaps.”

“Don’t you like them anymore?” Arthur inquired with an inordinate amount of sympathy, sitting forwards so that he could inspect her expression, eyes searching as if to check that she was alright; he had been doing that a lot since her pregnancy had become more visible, “You used to love going out for drinks with them, even though you never actually drank – they thought you were brilliant.”

“Yes, well, being one of the lads is easy when you can hide your inherent femininity behind sporting knowledge, a brash demeanour, and some cheap one-liners.” Deborah explained with a sardonic snort, lips forming a pout as she tried not to inject any bitterness into her tone; she _did_ like them, but she could have enjoyed their company more had she not been…well, herself, “I’m afraid it gets harder to fit in when one _lad_ gets themselves knocked-up.”

“You should definitely go and intimidate them with your baby bump.” Sandra giggled from behind her computer, barely even looking up or pausing in her typing; there were many thing that Deborah could have said to that, but she decided to change the subject, to keep things moving, to avoid their impending doom becoming any more uncomfortable than it already was.

“Have you decided what you’re doing with GERTI yet?” Deborah probed, raising her voice a tad, clear and curt as she tipped her chin into the air and pushed her hair behind her ears; she regretted it the moment that Arthur slumped back and frowned, glancing over his shoulder, and Carolyn ground to a halt.

“GERTI is a problem entirely separate from the company.” Carolyn answered, throwing her hands into the air either side of her, shrugging her shoulders as if all of the fight of the last few decades had been drained from her; and yet, there was an airiness in her demeanour that screamed of newfound freedom, the loosening of shackles, “Shutting down MJN is just a case of dissolving the company assets among other things. GERTI…well, she’s mine, and as I’m stepping down…she’s Arthur’s.”

“I’m not getting rid of her yet.” Arthur cut in, quickly, without any of his usual vigour; he shook his head and refused to look at Carolyn, or at Deborah as she leaned in and ducked her head down to try and make eye contact, “She can stay here at the airfield for now, and then I’ll think of something to do with her later, because we should all decide together really, because GERTI’s a part of the family too.”

“The best thing to do would be to sell her and have her broken up for scrap.” Carolyn told him sternly, although she made no effort to cross the room and approach the sofa; the papers passed between her hands, shuffling and reshuffling over the decision that she hadn’t been able to make for years.

“But I don’t want her broken up for scrap.” Arthur insisted, pouting furiously as he ran his hands over his knees and turned his head away so that Deborah couldn’t make good on her attempts to meet his gaze, “Think of all the memories we’ve got in her…we could meet up for parties now and then and have them on GERTI, and that would be brilliant because it would be full of our memories.”

“It’s a nice idea.” Deborah remarked gently, with every intention of carrying on; no such chance occurred, as Arthur perked up immediately, treating her to a wide, slightly strained grin that was just a tad too shaky to sit comfortably on his cheeks.

“See, even Deborah thinks it’s a good idea!” Arthur pleaded, throwing a splayed palm into the air between them as he nodded emphatically, glaring at Carolyn as if that would make her see, as if he hadn’t known her for over thirty years, “We can’t break GERTI up, because that’s where all the best things have happened to us. It’s where we got Deborah, it’s where Deborah and Skip fell in love, it’s where we had fun on _every_ flight-”

“Arthur…it’s a nice thought.” Deborah interrupted him with a gentle rap of her knuckles against his upper arm, catching his attention long enough to silence him; it was harder than it should have been to force her lips to curl upwards, and her eyes wandered over to Carolyn for support, “And it’s a thought that we can come back to…far, far in the future, when everything stops being so raw.”

“Something has to be done,” Carolyn added, with a patience that must have taken her a great amount of effort if the pinched nature of her expression was any indication; he was steadfast as ever in her resolve, “even if you won’t consider it now.”

Arthur pouted and folded his arms over his chest, but he didn’t say another word; his stubbornness was a force to be reckoned with at the best of times. There was no doubt that the best thing to do was to give him time to stew, to realise that it would be silly of him to keep GERTI…considering what a sentimental idiot he was, it would take a while, longer than Deborah could be bothered to wait.

“On an entirely different note,” Deborah announced, clearing her throat in an attempt to shatter the relative stillness that had fallen over the room; tucked away as she was in the corner of the sofa, it would have been just as easy for the rest of them to fret whilst she faded into the background…but then she wouldn’t have been doing her job, putting things to rights even if that meant sweeping despair under the carpet, “Have either of you seen my husband?”

“Where did you leave him?” Carolyn retorted, and just like that the tension was broken with a wry smirk and a cock of her head; abandoning her paper on Martin’s desk, he paced back to the front of the porta-cabin, until she could have looked out over the airfield had she wished. It might have been a careless gesture, but Deborah suspected she was looking out on her behalf, checking in spite of her mockery.

“He got a phone call then ran off, about an hour ago.” Deborah replied drearily, slouching back and throwing one arm up to rest on the cushions above her head, leaving her other hand on her stomach; honestly, it didn’t take that long to answer the phone, no matter who was calling, and she wasn’t in the mood for Martin scheming no matter how pathetically adorable it was, “I’m beginning to think he’s abandoned me to start a new life up in the air with the birds.”

“That would be brilliant – the birds, not the abandoning you.” Arthur chirped, shifting suddenly, as if on the upward draft of something bright as it caught his attention and drew him away from whatever dark things could even exist in such a vault of optimism as his skull; in a clumsy movement, he turned to peer over his shoulder, towards Sandra, “Were there any people in history that lived with birds, like how the Egyptians lived with cats?”

“Yes, there were.” Sandra replied indulgently, as she looked over the top of her laptop, finally stilling her hands in order to give him her full attention, nodding serenely all the while; a few minutes more and they would be gazing longingly at each other, and that would be unbearable, “I’ll teach you about them if you like.”

“Good luck with that.” Carolyn scoffed, sparing Sandra a fleeting, and far too motherly, glance before turning her eyes back to the window; the moment that she turned her head back to the glass her eyes widened slightly before she waved her hand towards Deborah, “Oh, there’s Martin now.”

There wasn’t time for Deborah to even sit up straight before the door crashed open; she just about got her arms propped up at her sides, lifting her head just above the line of the top of the sofa. It was all she could do to smile bright eyed and pleasant as Martin burst into the room, uniform open and as rumpled as his hair, as if he had been running his hands through it, and strode straight past Carolyn to stand in front of the sofa, hands splayed in the air, one still clutching his hat, the other his phone.

“Deborah!” Martin exclaimed, red faced and panting, lip pulled high into his cheeks as he veritably jittered in front of her, oblivious to the rest of the world; hurling his hat and phone onto the cushions, he reached down and grasped Deborah’s hands, yanking her to her feet with the practiced grace that he had acquired the moment he realised that he was having trouble rising swiftly from their chairs at home, and clinging to them as he beamed across the inches of space left between them, “I got one! I got a job!”

“Well done…” Deborah chuckled softly, as she struggled to retain her balance while clinging to him, an odd smile fading onto her lips as the familiar pang of warmth settled in her chest, reminiscent of pride or fondness; it came with a terrible tang of guilt at her whining about his absence, at the little voice in the back of her head waiting for the catch that inevitably came with Martin’s every success, but that was easily swallowed in the wake of his joy,  “I told you someone would give you an interview.”

“No, not an interview, a job.” Martin corrected her, shaking his head and dragging his bottom lip through his teeth as he slipped his hands from hers and squeezed her shoulders, ignoring the surprise on her face; his excitement, his complete and utter shock, rolled from him like a tangible aura, “They called me a-and they said my CV looked good, so I could have the job, just like that – a-all I have to do is go and negotiate working hours a-and I can start when I like, i-it’s perfect for us.”

“They don’t want to interview you first?” Carolyn inquired, eyebrows rising to her perfectly coifed white hairline as she stepped closer, moving in tandem with Arthur and Sandra as they leaned in to pay closer attention; Martin turned so quickly that it was fair to assume he had barely noticed her before she spoke, “Are you sure this is a proper company and not some sort of scam?”

“N-no, it’s a real airline.” Martin assured her, nodding hastily as he turned on his heel, finally taking his hands from Deborah so that they could clench at his side, “They’re only a few years old, s-so they’re desperate for pilots, and it’s flights are all in the UK or Europe, s-so they don’t mind that I want to come home every night instead of staying abroad on long haul jobs.”

“That’s brilliant Skip.” Arthur informed him with all the cheer that he could muster, which was a lot more than any other human could, as he hoisted himself up to sit on the arm of the sofa, just as Sandra, who Deborah hadn’t even seen move, sat down beside him, “I knew you’d be able to find something quickly.”

Arthur’s faith aside, and Martin’s utter thrill ignored, Deborah couldn’t get over the doubt that niggled at her guts as she watched her husband almost twirl around the porta-cabin; of course, it could just have been nausea, but she didn’t think so. She stood with her arms wound around her middle, standing back and feeling with the only stationary object in the room.

“Which airline is this?” Deborah asked abruptly, cutting off another exultation of stunned triumph that Martin just couldn’t keep in; nothing this good ever happened to Martin, Swiss Air standing as an anomaly that had only worked because of his particular brand of determination…she wasn’t prepared to celebrate just yet.

“Fast Jets UK.” Martin replied, quieting in less than a second as his grin shifted into a sheepish pout and his blush intensified as his heels came together and he hooked his hands behind his back; regardless, his tone remained prim and curt, brimming with the pride that he possessed whenever he discussed anything even slightly relating to himself and aviation.

With a sinking sense of dread, Deborah realised that ‘Fast Jets UK’ could run itself from the back of a lorry and Martin would defend it on the basis that they had chosen to take him in. God only knew she hoped that wasn’t the case.

“That doesn’t sound very promising.” Sandra remarked, although the smile never left her face despite the slight furrowing of her brow; Arthur shot her a bewildered glance, but she simply slipped her arm around his shoulders.

“It sounds less promising than we do.” Carolyn agreed, whistling through her teeth as she shook her head in despair; hands on her hips as she stepped closer to the group, it wasn’t hard to see that she cared, even if she was pretending that she didn’t, “I’ve never even heard of them.”

“I know it doesn’t sound very good, b-but they’re a proper airline with about ten planes, all a bit bigger than GERTI, b-but smaller than 747s.” Martin explained quickly, stumbling over his words as his chest heaved with the effort, “Apparently they get lots of passengers because they’re selling tickets just cheaper than Easyjet.”

It didn’t sound like the best airline in the world. It didn’t even sound as good as MJN, as it was guaranteed to involve structure and procedure without a shred of adventure, or _her_ , but Deborah could just about make herself see why Martin was making such an effort. It wasn’t the sort of job he wanted, it wasn’t the glamorous Captaincy that he had always dreamed of, and it wasn’t the fun that he had become accustomed to…but if they were prioritising their family, then they had to make sacrifices.

Martin had to accept a fraction of his dream…so there was no way that Deborah was letting him do so lightly.

“What sort of negotiating do they want to do?” Deborah demanded curtly, standing her ground and refusing to give in to the pitifully innocent look on Martin’s face; damn her hormones, she was actually considering letting him be, just for a second, but she didn’t.

“N-not wages!” Martin promised, raising his hands in surrender and stealing a horrified glance at Carolyn, to Deborah’s surprise, something that she never admitted to easily; she had completely forgotten how Martin’s last attempt at ‘negotiating’ had gone…apparently he hadn’t, “They’re going to pay me a proper Captain’s wage.”

“They’re letting you stay a Captain?” Carolyn blurted, nose wrinkling as if she were truly shocked. On a normal day Martin might have glared at her, or made one of his charming throaty noises as he defended his skills, but today he was blissfully oblivious to the implication.

“I know! Isn’t it fantastic?” Martin declared, beaming at Carolyn for only a moment before he turned back to Deborah and grinned, treading closer with his hand extended; against her better judgement, Deborah unfolded hers and loosely hooked her fingers around his sweaty ones, “They’re not even making me start from the beginning because they’ve barely got any pilots with,” as he said this, Martin adopted one of his terrible accents, a nasal scoff with his nose in the air, which was probably an attempt at mimicking a snotty posh man, “‘ _as much experience as you, Mr Crieff’_.”

“That’s wonderful Darling, I’m very proud.” Deborah sighed, pressing her free hand over her eyes for a fraction of a second as she felt the warm flutters in her chest increase imperceptibly for his success; Martin’s eyebrows knitted, and she knew that they would be having a conversation at home about whether she really _was_ proud, but for now, she ploughed onwards, “Now, what do they want to negotiate?”

“Nothing awful, I promise.” Martin swallowed hard and cleared his throat, giving her hand a little tug; the defensiveness was clear in his tone, but he was standing his ground, “I just made it clear, when I was applying for jobs, th-that because we’re starting a family, I don’t want to be out of the country for more than a day at a time, a-and I want to spend weekends and holidays with you, a-and that um…that I want to have a few months leave when the baby’s born.”

“Oh, _Martin_ …” Deborah groaned, letting her eyes fall closed; it was enterprising, and admirable, and damn touching…god, it made her dizzy to think of him risking everything for her and their baby, but he was going to ruin everything if he carried on that way, “You can’t start making demands like that before you’ve even been offered the job.”

“B-but I did, and it paid off.” Martin preened, adjusting the lapel of his jacket with his free hand; oh, he would be smug for days…and yet, Deborah was almost convinced by his confidence, “Fast Jets UK still wants to take me on, _and_ they recognise my skills as a Captain.”

There were a lot of things that Deborah could have said to that, but staring into Martin’s blue, watery eyes, she couldn’t quite muster the motivation. However, as was the case at MJN, and as would always be the case, someone else was ready to step in.

“They might change their minds after the third time you land in the wrong country.” Carolyn remarked brightly, a shark-like smile threatening to overwhelm her face as she paced close enough to pat Martin’s elbow as she passed and strode purposefully towards her office, “Times may have changed, but you most certainly haven’t.”

oOoOoOo

Even in the summer it was chilly at night, especially at Fitton’s airfield. It wasn’t terrible though; if Deborah could have spent the rest of her life anywhere, regardless of how her younger self would have scorned her, it would have been a town small enough that they could see the stars at night. It wasn’t the high-life that he had once predicted, but there was something beautiful about going out with her husband, Martin, the best friend she had ever had, about sharing the romance of sitting atop the porta-cabin of a night, with a baby on the way…it was chilly, but Deborah couldn’t think of anywhere she would have rather been.

It was even worth listen to Martin titter and fuss, after hours of teasing him about his upcoming change of job, and a week or two of arguments over how they were spending their money. As strange as it sounded, even in her own head, Deborah had found herself demanding to know why Martin, _Martin_ , had spent a large portion of his wages on ‘How to be a Good Parent and Not Kill Your Baby’ books.

As if he didn’t trust her to know all of that already…as if he knew that she suspected as much of herself without the hints, even if he insisted that it was his own incompetence that he was compensating for.

But it was good to be romantic…no matter how close Deborah got to throwing Martin’s manuals out of the window, or how near Martin got to threatening to run away and start a new life in his van…it was easy to rekindle that little spark and do something romantic, even if it was just a cuddle and a night away from the flat.

“I-I’m not sure about you being up here.” Martin stammered, as he nevertheless helped her clamber from the top of his van onto the porta-cabin’s corrugated roof; he was up and after her in a flash as she rose to her feet, and with every dull metallic clunk, his hands hovered in the air around her, “Careful!”

“I’m pregnant, not inept.” Deborah muttered, slapping his hands away before grabbing them again as she lowered herself down, struggling that little bit more with her agility; the backs of her knees bumped against Martin’s as he dropped down behind her, but after a moment of fussing and fidgeting, the both of them were wrapped in his coat, “It’s been ages since we did this.”

It wasn’t comfortable exactly, but it was warm, and Deborah was tired enough that nothing felt better than leaning back against the heat of Martin’s chest as his heart beat frantically beneath his ribs and his breath brushed hot against her exposed cheeks. His grumbling didn’t even overshadow the rickety whirring of the little jet as it did cartwheels in the sky above them, stark against the pale wash of purples and reds that were left were drawing the evening in their wake.

“We’ve been busy.” Martin murmured, and Deborah didn’t even need to turn and see the bags under his eyes to know how exhausted he was as he shifted behind her; he had been working himself to the bone for weeks.

Training himself to be a father was only his latest hobby, on top of flying, running Icarus Removals, scraping together as much spare cash as he could for their savings while also negotiating with Fast Jets UK…Deborah wasn’t used to feeling useless or redundant, but watching him run himself ragged while she could only lounge about at work until she lounged about at home…it wasn’t exactly the Sky God that she had created.

Being a wife was lovely, being a mother that was actually allowed to mother her child, that was going to be magnificent…and yet, Deborah couldn’t dispel the prickle in her guts that longed for a way to be _needed_ again…she didn’t even need to be the superhero that made everything better anymore, it wasn’t as if she had anything to prove after all, but… _something, anything_ to make sure she was pulling her weight.

“He’s probably the only thing keeping the grounds crew in a job.” Martin remarked, so suddenly that Deborah startled in his arms, knocked from her reverie by the low grumble of his voice; it took a moment for her to realise that he was referring to the Elderly Pilot, who was currently careening upwards, “Do you think he’ll ever stop flying?”

“I hope not.” Deborah replied giving in to the sentimentality that tugged at her heartstrings as thoughts began to half-form in her mind; even if she couldn’t, she hoped that Elderly Pilot stayed exactly the same for the rest of his life, “It would be a shame not to have something to come and laugh at every now and again.”

“He’s not very good.” Martin noted grimly, hands clenching together where they rested over her stomach; it was impossible to guess what he was thinking, as eclectic as his mental processes were at the best of times.

“He’s not dead yet, so I’d say he’s about as good as you.” Deborah drawled, settling back so that she could see his chill stained face as his chest heaved with the indignant noise he ejected from his throat; his scowl was enough to put a smile on her face as she reached up and patted his cheeks, “Oh, don’t look at me like that…by the time you’re old and wrinkly you’ll be as good as me.”

“Will I still be flying when I’m as old as him?” Martin asked, once he had settled back down, in a voice so pitiable as he leant his chin against her shoulder that Deborah’s mood was dampened in an instant. _Oh_ …so that was what was responsible for his sour mood of the past few weeks. Perhaps he hadn’t been quite so oblivious to their changing fortunes.

“If you still want to, then I’m sure we can work things out.” Deborah assured him as best as she could, unsure of whether such a thing was possible; what was she thinking – of course it was possible, she was Deborah R-Crieff after all, all they needed was a little faith, she thought, as her smile became more settled and images of the future flitted behind her eyes, “We can retire together and buy a small plane that won’t aggravate your inner ear problem…it’ll be lovely.”

A beat passed, a moment of calm, before it was pierced again.

“I think we should move.” Martin announced abruptly, voice receding as if trying to hide as Deborah turned ever so slightly in his arms; he shook his head hastily, and even against the cold it was possible to see his cheeks flushing as his jaw set with determination, “N-Not now, I mean, i-into a house somewhere in Fitton.”

“ _Why_?” Deborah asked, elongating the word until it rolled off her tongue in the same slow instant as her confusion, and just as unwelcome; if she knew her husband, and she most definitely did, this was the sort of thing that he had probably worked out himself in his head weeks beforehand when really he should have been discussing it with her. Some things never changed.

“Because we’re having a baby.” Martin explained, first calmly, then more emphatically as his words began to tumble over one another; his grip didn’t falter even once, even as his shoulders moved up and down with emotion, “Look at it this way – we’ve got our room and a guest room, but within a year we’re going to need to house us, a baby, and Verity when she comes to stay.”

“How are we going to afford a house?” Deborah inquired, trying to be pragmatic, and not to focus on the comfortable mixture of his physical warmth and the pleasant fluttering that his concern was creating in her chest; they were both thinking of the future, it should have stopped being such a novelty when Martin did something so completely thoughtful and a little bit selfless.

Martin Crieff was a selfish man, but every now and then he did something terribly heart-warming…it stopped things from becoming boring.

“I-it doesn’t have to be a big house, j-just one that we can all fit in.” Martin carried on stammering and stuttering, and blinking down at Deborah with his wide eyes, bottom lip burrowing between his teeth, “Your grandmother gave us enough that we could afford a down payment, and then we can do a mortgage like anyone else would.”

“Do you really want to move house while I’m pregnant?” Deborah cut in when she had heard enough, slipping her hands up and over his where they were curled around her middle; this wasn’t the sort of decision they could make on a whim after all.

“Do you want to move house with a baby?” Martin countered, perfectly confidently, pouting his lips and raising one eyebrow so smugly, as if he had used his best ammunition; he must have put a lot of thought into it to make his idea do watertight, “Or a small child?”

“My, my, Captain, it appears you’ve outwitted me.” Deborah purred, unable to keep the smile from her lips as she leaned back into him, until there was no chance that he could really see her face, only the plane turning giddy circles in the air; it wasn’t a bad idea at all actually…a very thoughtful, insightful idea…laying roots, buying their first home together, starting afresh…it was lovely, “So...I think it’s a good idea…we could use more living space.”

“Exactly.” Martin agreed smugly, his own pride in himself brimming with the single word; she could feel his smiling to himself against her cheek as he kept talking, “I’ve already been looking.”

Of course he had.

oOoOoOo

The final flight…everything was in place. Sandra had found another job to make things easier for Carolyn as she tied up the last of their assets, so it was just the four of them once again on a long haul flight to New Zealand. One last flight…it seemed almost fitting that their last run together, the final bow, the curtain call, would be a drudging trek to the opposite side of the planet with a troop of clowns and other circus entertainers.

“We should do something amazing to celebrate.” Arthur suggested as he leaned between the pilots’ seats, one arm slung over the back of each; no matter how much he didn’t want things to end, it would have been difficult to wipe the smile from his face given the eternal optimism that he brought onto the flight-deck, presumably having decided that the end was just as exciting as a new beginning, “You know, one of those amazing things that you guys do sometimes.”

“You mean the terribly _illegal_ things that _Deborah_ sometimes does?” Martin inquired primly, making a point of turning to stare at Arthur before glaring at Deborah from underneath the rim of his hat; he was hiding a smile though, of that she was absolutely sure…he loved her games really, or he would never have married her.

“I wouldn’t say _illegal_.” Deborah retorted, smirking as she pushed her hair behind her ears and looked out over the sky, flicking her fingers over the loose threads on the arm of her seat; she hadn’t done anything _truly_ illegal for years, mostly because the worst possible way to seduce a pouting and pedantic Captain was through grandiose showing off that could possibly land them in jail.

“The last time I checked you weren’t the CAA.” Martin reminded her, ignoring the faint scoff the she let out; turning back to Arthur, flicking a switch above his head as he did so, Martin spoke with all of the authority that he could muster, managing not to sound pompous, simply commanding, which was…a far cry from his first flight, “No, Arthur, we’re not doing anything like that – this is our last ever flight together, as a team, and we’re going to do it _by the book.”_

“Oh, okay.” Arthur nodded solemnly, and as Deborah stole a fleeting glance over her shoulder, she could almost see the cog turning in his mind, the single gear working to make the most of it; it didn’t take long, as he clapped his hands on the back of the seats, “That’ll still be fun…and I guess Mum wouldn’t be too happy if we did anything too exciting.”

As if to corroborate that idea, the intercom buzzed and crackled into life, making itself heard over the clunky whirring of the engines and the hum of the control panel. Carolyn’s voice punctuated the air like a siren, a warning not to misbehave without even touching upon the subject.

“ _Arthur,”_ Carolyn left a long enough pause for Arthur to hum in acknowledgement, despite her not being able to hear him; Deborah placed her finger over the button to her side so that she would be ready for when he began talking without it, _“you’ve left something in the Cabin.”_

“Really?” Arthur exclaimed, scrunching his face up in bewilderment as he leaned in towards the control panel, causing Martin to lean away as Deborah held down the button for the speakers, “What did I forget?”

“ _Your job, dear heart, your job.”_ Carolyn replied wearily, with all the energy of a woman that had spent the last twenty minutes catering to an overly excitable group of entertainers; it was a wonder why Arthur was with her actually, _“Get back in here and help me before I strangle the customers.”_

“Oh, right, sorry.” Arthur apologised hastily, stumbling backwards and away from the gap between the seats; he was gone before the swish of the door had even echoed around the space. In the few seconds that the door was open, the sounds of chatter, and peculiarly what sounded like miniature explosions, filtered through…nothing to worry about though if Carolyn was allowing it to take place.

“Are you not a fan of the circus Carolyn?” Deborah inquired coyly, swiping at Martin’s hand as he tried to reach across and take hers away from the intercom; she ended up having to create a barrier with her arm, through which she knew he wouldn’t fight too hard against, for fear of hurting her in her ‘delicate’ state, although that didn’t stop him trying to worm his way into her space.

“ _No, I am not.”_ Carolyn huffed through the speakers; it was just like any other flight. So, just as on any other flight, it would be wrong not to make her experience all the more enjoyable.

“Are their big feet obstructing the aisle?” Deborah drawled, settling back against her seat, arm outstretched to ensure that she could still be heard; Martin stilled with one hand still on her arm, but when she met his eyes, his lips formed an ‘oh’ of understanding, and he nodded emphatically for her to continue, “Are they _clowning_ around? Are you finding it a bit much to _juggle_ on your own?”

“Y-yes,” Martin interjected, chuckling awkwardly as he hurried to try and think of his own joke, snorting as each syllable left his mouth; his cheeks were scarlet with pride, “O-or are they making too much mess with all their pies?”

“Nice idea, darling.” Deborah withheld a laugh, but her voice lowered fondly as she brushed him back to his own seat, away from the speakers; it was all that she could do not to indulge the affection that simmered in her chest at his ineptitude, “Next time let’s work on the execution.”

“ _If you two are quite finished.”_ Carolyn sighed, her voice crackling into the space; her patience only stretched so far, but she _had_ stayed and listened, so that was something, _“I pay you to fly my plane, not make bad jokes…there’s enough of that in the Cabin.”_

“Oh, I’m _sure_ there is.” Deborah remarked wryly, but she took her hand from the intercom button, allowing Carolyn her peace; turning to Martin, to see him adjusting his sleeves and pushing down his hat, she smirked and noted, “I bet you dinner tonight that Carolyn won’t make it through the entire flight to New Zealand without upsetting a passenger.”

To her disappointment, Martin merely let the smile settle into his expression and shook his head, humming his refusal with a cheeky glance in her direction. Deborah rolled her eyes, but otherwise let him be as the baby kicked, and a faint wave of nausea hit her, making opening her mouth just that fraction less rewarding. Instead, she slouched back, settled her hand over her stomach, and made sure to keep one eye on the controls…until she couldn’t stand to sit and do nothing anymore.

“I know that these words have never left my mouth, and never will again, but…” Deborah paused, and pursed her lips, curling the hand that wasn’t stroking her bump through the air; she let her eyes flutter as she glanced at Martin, until she was sure that she had his attention, “Arthur’s right. We should do something fun.”

“Deborah, no.” Martin scolded her lightly, tipping his chin up as if that might actually convince her of his authority, as his fingers tapped on the controls.

“Not illegal, just _fun_.” Deborah assured him, putting on her most convincing trill, as she batted her eyelashes at him, tracing her eyes over the handsome cuts of his freckles cheeks; he was a hard man to manipulate, but not if you knew which buttons to push, “Don’t you remember, all those years ago? You were all for filling GERTI with boiled sweets and dropping them on Chris’ house.”

“That was different…you seduced me into doing it w-with _words_.” Martin stammered, swallowing hard, throat bobbing as his eyes darted between her and the sky; he raised a shaking finger to jab through the air at her, “A-and you can’t do that now! We’re flying, s-so no…no… _that_.”

“Then a _game_ , some fun announcements,” Deborah insisted, groaning and slumping in defeat; perhaps he would give in if he had thought that he had won the fight, “ _something_ to make this last flight _memorable_.”

“How about we just have a nice flight, a long flight, where we do everything properly, and enjoy it anyway.” Martin suggested, raising his eyebrows as his shivering stilled; stubborn to a tee, as ever, and he wasn’t letting her forget it, “That way w-we can have fun by _not_ getting arrested o-or sued.”

“Oh, _fine_ …spoilsport.” Deborah grudgingly agreed, reaching out to lightly bat his elbow, biting her tongue to stop herself from arguing any further; they had hours yet, there was still time to convince him to play…it was their last flight after all, they couldn’t linger on that, “I’ll behave.”

Martin looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t get the chance. The flight-deck door slammed open, and Arthur was bundled in, followed almost immediately by Carolyn; both of them were harried and ruffled, and the noise that accompanied their entrance was akin to that of a festival or small riot. The closing of the door only just brought back the silence.

“Make room, make room!” Carolyn demanded, as Deborah and Martin turned to peer towards the back of the flight-deck as she swept Arthur into the space in front of the jump-seat; she was pink cheeked and agitated, breathing heavily as she stormed in.

“I wanted to stay and talk to the clowns.” Arthur whined, rearranging his arms as if he had been a string doll tossed into a box as he stumbled to stand out of the way and give his mother room.

“What’s going on?” Martin asked, staring between them and the door as something heavy hit the metal and elicited an almighty clang; he flinched and turned to Deborah, but his hands wandered to hover over the control panel in preparation.

“It’s going to be a hectic one I’m afraid.” Carolyn huffed, inhaling sharply and hissing as she glared at the door, shrugging her shoulders helplessly; it was the most harried she had been in months, and she was coping well all things considered, “Brace yourselves.”

There had never been any chance of them having a normal last flight.

oOoOoOo

MJN had ended two months ago…and yet it lingered in the backs of everyone’s minds.

Carolyn was begrudgingly happy with Herc, the both of them living off what little money they had saved and his generous pension from Swiss Air; from what Deborah had heard, she gathered that they were doing some sort of dog walking tour of all the places neither of them had been in the UK due to their previously hectic schedules. While Herc just liked visiting National Trust properties, it was more likely that Carolyn enjoyed pretending that she was a queen while looking down upon the stately grounds and complaining about the opera she was enduring.

Sandra and Arthur’s lives hadn’t changed dramatically. Sandra was busy writing and earning remarkably large tips at the restaurant where she worked, while Arthur…Arthur wasn’t really doing a lot of anything. He had helped Deborah and Martin move into a small house in the middle of Fitton, and had since spent a lot of time there on the basis that he was keeping Deborah company…nobody wanted to address the difficulty he was facing in finding another job.

Martin, in a stroke of luck that he had never experienced before, managed to get all of his demands past Fast Jets UK; he had weekends off, the promise of coming home every night by Six o’clock, and two months paternity leave when the baby came. It wasn’t a god job, but he came home every night Monday to Friday proud of his position as Captain, and proud of the steady wage that he was pulling in; Icarus was on the back foot, but he was still getting weekend jobs, which Deborah could no longer help with.

Deborah…Deborah was bored. She was heavily pregnant and incapable of doing much at all, and completely and utterly bored. For the first week or so she had pottered around the house blasting symphonic albums, or her old Star Trek box sets, rearranging the furniture in their new upstairs bedrooms, in their conjoined kitchen and lounge that sprawled into one another…decorating until there was nothing left to decorate.

It was alright though…she spent a lot of time sleeping, which cut the hours away nicely.

Friday night started with Martin returning early from a flight to and from Belfast, as the sky was beginning to turn dark, to find Deborah lying back on the sofa, her laptop balanced on her stomach as she searched for jobs. He abandoned his coat and changed out of his uniform, humming until he flopped back on the sofa beside her; the cushions dipped under his weight, and he rested the top of his head against her belly, raising one arm up to stroke the backs of his knuckles against her arm.

“How are you feeling?” Martin inquired when Deborah didn’t say a word, only dropped her hand down to impede his path and hook their fingers together; he shifted and turned to prop himself up on his elbows, completely at ease, calm and content with loose limbs, as he watched the path of her free hand over the keys.

“I’m feeling fine.” Deborah murmured, keeping her eyes on the screen so that she didn’t have to think about the welling of dejection that had pooled in her guts over the course of a day spent doing bugger all; the excitement over the baby had begun to wane when there was no longer anything to buy, no more clothes or cradles that they didn’t have, “Feeling inefficient...a little bit unemployed.”

“Something will turn up.” Martin promised as he shuffled closer, a warm weight against her side as he rolled onto his side; Deborah had to relinquish her laptop to be dropped on the cushions to make room for him as Martin rose up to lean his ear against her round bump beside her hand, lips curling upwards as the baby fussed beneath the skin, “Do you think it can hear me?”

“I think it’s probably wondering why there’s something outside of its cosy house that never shuts up.” Deborah replied, perhaps a little too sharply; closing her eyes for a moment to push away the days bleariness, she continued before Martin could be insulted, “It’ll probably be able to recite the entire CAA code of conduct once it opens its eyes.”

“I can’t wait.” Martin practically squealed in a hushed tone, as he held dragged his bottom lip through his teeth and avoiding poking her stomach; that was a lesson he had learnt a while ago and was doing a good job at abiding by.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do…” Deborah blurted, sighing before she had time to think about why she was saying it at all; she hadn’t wanted to worry Martin when he was in such a good mood of late, but…it wasn’t as if Arthur had been much use, “What am I supposed to do with a pilot’s licence that doesn’t involve me flying anywhere?”

“Something will turn up.” Martin promised, patting her arm lightly; when she only rolled her head and mumbled he rose up until he was sitting with his back to the arm of the sofa, leaning back and facing her directly, optimistic little smile adorning his lips as he shrugged his shoulders, “And hey…if nothing does, you could always go and work at Duxford.”

“How so?” Deborah demanded, eyes snapping back to meet his as he moved; it was ridiculous, but something about the desperation of her position made her grasp at the idea…Martin was shaking his head carelessly, but she spoke louder, cutting off whatever excuse he was trying to make, “ _Martin_ , how so?”

“Well, nothing…i-it just occurred to me that Duxford hires pilots that don’t go anywhere.” Martin explained, stammering guiltily and running his hand over the back of his neck; he obviously thought that he was in trouble, “Apart from the museum, they’ve got a functioning airfield – th-they use it for fun days out, l-like if someone wants a trip up in a plane, they take it for a spin around the county.”

“Martin…that’s genius.” Deborah breathed, mouth falling gracelessly open as she stared at him; Martin gaped, but all of a sudden a warmth filled her chest and her mind started spinning as ideas sprouted and took form, and she could feel herself tensing in anticipation, “ _That_ …it’s a good idea.”

“You don’t want to work at Duxford though.” Martin snorted, eyeing her as if he couldn’t quite believe it as she rose to her knees, one hand clinging to the back of the sofa to maintain her balance while the space between them lessened; he knew her well enough to know that she would never do such a thing.

“No, but _Martin_ …we _have_ a plane, and we _have_ an airfield.” Deborah elaborated, inhaling sharply as the idea took on a more corporeal form; it was all that she could do not to take his hands as he shifted closer, “We can’t run an airline anymore, but we could easily fly GERTI around England, or to places like Paris for the day.”

It was genius, obvious, so obvious that Deborah couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it herself. She had spent years at MJN barely leaving the country because they didn’t have enough pilots…it hadn’t been profitable, or sensible, but damn it had dragged her out of the darkest corner of her life. Everything was there and she had been moping around at home! The shame of it!

“But who would you be flying?” Martin asked, brow furrowing in confusion; he didn’t move any closer, but he did move his feet so that Deborah could rest more comfortably on her knees.

“Anyone!” Deborah declared, throwing her hands into the air and gesticulating wildly, “The Duxford crowd – and more!” as the idea became more real, the hope that had been simmering in her chest blossomed and whirled, and she was almost dizzied by the smile that it forced onto her lips as she gazed into Martin’s eyes; there was no one she would have rather shared this moment with, “You know how to start and run a business, Carolyn can teach me how to manage a sort of airline…if I roped Arthur in we could advertise day flights for romantic couples, for children, we could host anniversaries, _birthday parties –_ what ten year old wouldn’t want a party in the sky?”

“Wh-wh…” Martin’s mouth opened and closed and he shook his head, but in less than a second his faith in her returned, and his eyes were fixed on hers, widening and lighting up, “C-could that work?”

“Why not?” Deborah asked, grinning now as she fell back from her knees until she was seated, slumped against the back of the cushions; it was brilliant, and wonderful, and she could still fly GERTI and work with Arthur and _fly_ , “MJN should never have worked, but it did – this would be insane, and risky, but that’s what we’re good at!”

“And the baby?” Martin inquired, maintaining the voice of reason with a set jaw and a steady breath, even as a smile crept onto his lips and wavered, wobbled, stayed there despite his doubts.

“If I only work nine to five hours, and _I’m_ the one _running_ it, there’s no reason I couldn’t take the baby with me.” Deborah decided, nodding quickly as her hands came back to rest over her stomach; she could see it now, everything falling into place just how it should be, nothing lost at all, it was breath-taking and wonderful, and she was a Sky God after all, she could _do it_ , “It could sit in the flight-deck…and if I get a job on your days off, you could fly with me, we could…”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so excited.” Martin cut her off, and Deborah fell silent at the sound of his voice, low and soft; by the time her head stopped spinning and she exhaled the air that she hadn’t known she had been holding, she found him gazing at her, a dumb smile on his lips, cheeks faintly flushed as he watched her.

“I don’t think I ever realised quite how much I love flying.” Deborah admitted, trailing off into a hysterical giggle; she brought the hands up to grind into her eyes, watching the colours erupt into the darkness as she pressed down and exulted, caught on the giddy high of it all, “ _God_ …I don’t have to give it up.”

Martin’s low hum was more of a gravelly grumble, but it was lovely to hear as a stillness fell over the room. When Deborah lowered her eyes, it was as if the world reasserted itself just as it was supposed to, with a plan fully formed…she should have known that she would think of something and make it all better, eventually.

The second thing she noticed was the way that Martin was leaning his side against the back of the sofa, cheek propped up on his curled knuckles as he gazed at her, a certain twinkle in his eyes…the sort that never failed to make the moths in her chest flutter and twirl as they only did once in a while, growing rusty with habit. It was the same burning look that would have her ducking her head and breathing shallowly years ago, when there had been a silent agreement that neither of them acknowledged the longing stares that they didn’t know were longing.

The sort of look that reminded her that Martin could see right through her, and yet still wanted to look at her with such _heat_ in his gaze; Deborah couldn’t imagine why.

“What are you looking at?” Deborah asked wanly, pursing her lips to prevent herself from abandoning any more of her fragile composure; her brain was a hormonal mess as it was with the added thrill that a stroke of genius brought, but she could still hold her ground, no matter how happy she was.

“You.” Martin replied, smiling even wider; he was inordinately calm, so there was no doubting his sincerity. He was only confident when he knew what he wanted and what he wanted to say.

“Why are you looking at me?” Deborah repeated, leaning closer; no matter how near she leaned, the air crackled between them, or so she thought, and it was hard to bridge the space when his gaze was so strong.

“Because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” Martin replied, as if it were completely obvious; Deborah suspected that it was prompted somewhat by her declaration of her love of flying, but that didn’t stop her heart from flopping pathetically when he rumbled lowly that, “I don’t think I tell you that often enough.”

“Well, the mutual antipathy must be maintained.” Deborah murmured, slipping her hand along the top of the sofa to meet Martin’s, relishing the way his fingers, scuffed from using the controls all day, wrapped around hers and enveloped them in a steady warmth; there was no need to taint the air hot and taut between them, “You’re just being soppy.”

“I’m not.” Martin insisted, biting his lip as he blinked at her in the same way he did when he was on the flight-deck looking into the sun; his chest shuddered as he explained, “Every now and then I look at you, a-and it just sort of hits me…you’re my best friend, and you’re my wife, you’re the mother of my child and…you are the _love of my life_ …you’re so beautiful I can barely breathe sometimes.”

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Deborah remarked before a second could pass, and then inwardly cursed her quick wit; it was a nice moment, and mercifully, Martin didn’t seem to notice that she paused before continuing, resisting the temptation to lower her eyes and murmur so that he couldn’t hear her brutal honesty, “The funniest man I’ve ever met by far.”

“Is that a _good_ thing?” Martin snorted, self-deprecating as always, pushing his free hand over the bottom of his face; he may have been peculiarly soppy of late, but soon he would be caustic and pedantic again, and Deborah couldn’t decide which she loved more.

“Yes.” Deborah assured him, nodding and smirking as if she were putting him right on some piece of protocol that he had misquoted, “It is absolutely, most definitely the best thing in the world.”

There was nothing left to say after that; not when Deborah was uncomfortable and bloated, and Martin was exhausted after a long day at work. Martin finally shifted onto his knees and traced his hand through her hair, cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss to her lips, and Deborah lingered as long as she could, curling her arm around his shoulders and cherishing the warmth and the comfort of being tucked up against her best friend, foreheads and cheeks brushing as their lips connected again.

Everything was alright, all things considered. When they parted, and Martin got up to wander through to the kitchen, Deborah was content; her mind was reeling, with plans for that night, plans for the future, the niggling voice telling her to call Arthur then and there to sort out restarting MJN together…

And then she was wincing and bending forwards, hands flying to her stomach as a sharp pain tore through her middle.

“Ow!” Deborah let out a high pitched noise which trembled into a long whine as she bit her tongue and forced herself to open her eyes, to sit forwards with her feet on the floor; another pang of pain shot through her as she shouted into the kitchen, “Martin!”

Deborah knew before Martin had thudded into the lounge, tripping over his own feet and yelping with premature panic, what was happening. It didn’t hurt any less than last time, even with Martin fussing around her, tugging at her arms, demanding to know what was wrong.

Another sharp pain, and Deborah closed her eyes again, leaning into the crook of Martin’s shoulder. She couldn’t recall choosing to speak, but she was sure that she was telling Martin what to do.

Damn…the last place she had wanted to spend that night was the hospital. That was Deborah’s last coherent thought before she was struck by the memory of just how much it had hurt the last time, and swept away in a flurry of Martin worrying at the top of his voice.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Flora Carolyn Crieff was born at three in the morning, kicking and screaming, with as much grace as could be expected from the daughter of MJN’s former piloting duo. With that in mind, her arrival went quite smoothly.

Somehow they arrived at the hospital in what the doctors assured Deborah was ‘good time’, and in a blur of activity, she found herself properly kitted out in a bed, in a room away from the other patients, sufficiently drugged up, while Martin fussed and floundered at her side. Oddly enough, as he squawked and weaved past the departing midwives, all that she could focus on was the fact that he was still in half of his uniform, shirtsleeves pushed to his elbows, more unkempt than he had ever been before.

“Right, r-r-right, o-o-okay we’re okay, y-you’re okay, e-everything’s fine!” Martin stammered, chest heaving as he flapped at the side of her bed, eyes daring over every beeping device, everything that he could see when he turned his head; it didn’t seem possible, but he had never been so red in the face, or wide eyed as his fingers clenched in the thin sheet, “The baby’s coming a-and i-it’s o-okay – t-the baby…the baby’s coming!”

“Martin, _lord_ _knows_ the baby’s coming.” Deborah  sighed, taking great care to steady her breathing and clear her mind, keeping her gaze on Martin and Martin only as if it might help ground her; she could handle the pain, had handled it alone before, but she would have preferred not to have to order her husband out of the doctor’s way because he couldn’t behave, “I am well aware that the baby is coming.”

“S-sorry, I-I’m sorry dear, I’m sorry – sorry – I’m sorry!” Martin flustered, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth; it would have been a wonderful sight if Deborah wasn’t trying not to double over in pain, “I-is there anything I can do? I-I can help, what can I do to help?”

“You can’t help – you’re a pilot, not a doctor.” Deborah snapped, swallowing her anger almost immediately as she lay her head back on the pillow and let her arm flop from her stomach to lie beside her; she waggled her fingers and tried to reach for his hand, plastering on a wan smile, “Just…just stand over here…and hold my hand, like that…just hold my hand, that’s what you can do.”

“Okay…o-okay…here I am, I-I’m here.” Martin gasped more than cooed, but he made an effort to calm down, winding his hand through hers; his palm was hot and sweaty, slick as their fingers intertwined, but that didn’t matter, as Martin was running his hand through Deborah’s hair, smoothing over her forehead, “I’ve got you…I love you…everything’s going to be alright.”

“I’m not dying.” Deborah remarked, smirking ever so slightly at the expression on his face; there were a million others that might have been better companions in such a frantic moment, but she wouldn’t have traded Martin for the world.

“No, n-no, of course.” Martin agreed, nodding emphatically as he kept up his ministrations, soothing and encouraging, clinging to her about as hard as she knew she was going to be clinging to him in a short while, “Of course not.”

In the haze of pain and contractions and drugs, it was a struggle to focus on much at all, but Deborah managed, just about. As she breathed a little easier, her eyes traced over Martin’s face, took in his shaking and shivering, the nervous glint in his eyes and the inarticulate murmuring that poured over her. Martin had been just as excited as she was for the baby, but she was beginning to think that perhaps he wasn’t quite up to it.

“Martin, are you alright?” Deborah asked, as she blinked up at him, squeezing her fingers around the crooks of his knuckles; their joined hands wavered in the air, caught between falling to the bed and pressing against her cheek, not that Martin noticed, his attention diverted, “You can wait outside if you want to.”

“No!” Martin insisted, tripping slightly in his haste to move closer to her side, to bend down until they were at equal head height, “I want to stay here – I-I-I want to be here when the baby comes!”

“It’s just I’m afraid all the air going to your brain is going to make you dizzy.” Deborah elaborated, offering a tense smile that ended a grimace as another contraction hit, making her bite her tongue; it would have been easy to dismiss him with a snarky remark, but even now, she forced herself to reason with him, just as they had spent years of their life practicing, “I’d rather you…you didn’t pass out while I’m in labour.”

“I won’t pass out.” Martin retorted, indignant to the very scrunch of his nose; then he seemed to realise where he was, and his eyes widened, eyebrows rising to meet his ruffled hairline, “Wait!...Will there be blood?”

“Will there be _blood_?” Deborah drawled as best as she could, really more of a shaky rasp as she rolled her eyes and lay back even further, gripping Martin’s hand and trying not to dig her nails in; no use getting worked up at a time like this, “Take a moment to think about, darling.”

“N-no, that’s fine, f-fine, absolutely fine!” Martin stuttered, nodding redundantly, just standing by her side being of no use at all, but absolutely determined and resolute, as he always was, “I’ll just-”

“Ow….ow…Martin, decide what you’re doing, please.” Deborah opened her mouth in the same moment that another, rather more painful contraction hit, and Martin almost winced at how hard she squeezed his hand; when she got her breath back, she smiled sweetly and nodded towards the door, “And call the midwife.”

After that it was a haze of pain and people, and people running around making the pain even worse, and Martin standing at her side, turning this way and that, torn between comforting his wife and trying to watch the birth of his child without passing out. He wasn’t exactly helpful, but Deborah had to admit herself, during a moment of lucidity, that he would have panicked had she opened her eyes to find him gone. If she had imagined, when they were flying GERTI together and she was trying not to throttle her petulant Captain, that one day he would be standing at her side as she delivered their child, being nothing but loving and a little bit neurotic, she would have immediately cursed her insanity.

Alas, there she was, listening to him stammer at the midwives as if he couldn’t decide whether he needed telling what to do, or whether he was giving the orders.

Deborah lay back on what she assumed was her pillow, sighing and exhaling raggedly as the shrill cries finally filled the room, bouncing from the walls, ringing in every corner, a shimmering reed of high-pitched light that made her want to sit up and lurch across the bed, but let her lie back and wait, a small smile resting on her lips. She could just about see Martin, pink cheeked and silent, mouth open as he stilled and let go of her hand, stepped away from the side of the bed.

It was beautiful, watching him give in and follow orders for once in his life, repeating over and over again that the baby was a girl as the midwife made him stand still and cut the cord, then swept her away for the checks.

Then she was back, and Martin was standing there swaying, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, ragged and worn out, red in the face, shimmering slightly with sweat from the panic he had been in, as the tiny squirming mass was placed in his arms. Deborah couldn’t help but revel in the warmth that filled her chest, her aching muscles, as she watched his crook his arms awkwardly and allow the adjustments, holding their baby close to his chest, hunching over until he was rocking her gently, bouncing slightly, looking for all the world as if heaven had been placed within his grasp.

Martin’s eyes were wide and soft and glistening as if he were about to cry, as his lips open and closed, curled into a smile that met his cheeks…if there were an image in the world that could encompass the wonder that Deborah was feeling, it was the sight of him, gazing down at his daughter as if he were staring at the sun, stunned speechless by what he was as he stepped around the bed.

“Hey…hey Debs…Deborah…look at her…look at her, she’s beautiful…” Martin uttered on a whisper of a breath, as he came closer to the edge of the bed, bending down so that over the peeks of his bare arms, Deborah could see the rosy cheeks and scrunched up lips, the tiny waving limbs, and the wriggling baby girl as she grumbled with exhaustion; he was right, absolutely right, “Oh god, she’s real, s-she’s real and she’s beautiful…oh god…”

“I can’t see…” Deborah murmured, weakly extending her arms towards him and curling her fingers inwards to coax him nearer once she realised that she couldn’t do more than sit up with her back to the headrest before it was too much of a strain, “Bring her here…Martin, bring her here…”

Martin did as he was asked immediately, cooing and smiling down at their daughter as she wriggled in his arms, moving gently to Deborah’s side. Shifting the baby into her arms involved some navigation, and bumping into each other, but once she was settled, Deborah couldn’t keep her eyes from her face, even as she felt Martin shift closer, curling his arm around her back and shoulders as he clambered to sit beside her on the bed; it was absolutely perfect, and Deborah settled back into his embrace with a sigh, letting the warmth and the fluttering over whelm her as the baby shifted and quieted down a fraction, blinking open her eyes to stare aimlessly up at them.

Perfect blue eyes that were obviously going to darken, above perfectly pouting lips that looked just like Martin’s, and perfect tiny little toes and perfect fingers on the end of perfect arms that flailed into the air to catch Deborah’s hand as she traced the tips of her fingers over every one.

If Deborah had thought for a moment that her love would be lessened by this being her second daughter, she would have been wrong, completely and utterly wrong…her baby was perfect, and beautiful, and Martin was there, and she was so perfect and warm and tiny curled up in her arms, making nonsensical sounds and squeaks as she blinked into the world.

“Are you alright?” Martin asked softly, somewhere near Deborah’s ear as he snuggled closer, all the better for leaning his cheek against her hair and spying his daughter from a better angle; he actually sounded reasonably sound for someone with such a weak disposition.

“Yes…” Deborah breathed, and then blinked hard, nodding her head, unable to make herself look over her shoulder as her husband when it was so much easier to lean forwards and touch her nose to the tip of her daughter’s before leaning back, “Yes…I’m…I’m alright…I’m good…”

“You’re speechless.” Martin chuckled, wrapping his arm more tightly around her shoulders, hugging her more tightly even as he teased her; she could feel his smile just as much as she could hear it, pouring out of him like a ray of light, warm and gushing with emotion, “I should get this on camera.”

“You should.” Deborah let out a laugh that sort of descended into a truncated sob, choking her with joy that would have overflowed if she hadn’t leaned back just enough to turn her head; from this angle she could bat her eyelashes and have them brush his cheek, or his nose as he leaned back far enough that their eyes met, too intense to look for long, “You should ask Arthur when he turns up.”

“She keeps looking at you.” Martin remarked, murmuring softly, making Deborah’s eyes snap back to the baby in her arms; he slipped his hand from her shoulder and reached around her waist until he could trace the tips of his fingers over the baby’s tiny palm, beaming as she clenched it shut in a vice like grip but continued to stare up at Deborah, as he lowered his voice into a playful whisper that made Deborah want to cling to him and never let go for being a perfect father a thousand times over without even trying, “Mummy’s pretty isn’t she? Isn’t Mummy lovely?”

“Daddy’s not bad either.” Deborah hummed, resting her head against Martin’s cheek until she felt him press a kiss to her hair; she couldn’t help the giddy cartwheels taking place in her lungs as their daughter, shook Martin’s finger without really looking at it, taking another from the same hand into her other palm and bending it at the knuckle, before pulling it up to her mouth, gargling all the while, “She likes your hands…I can’t say I blame her.”

They sat in silence for a few moments more, soaking up the new reality of the child that they were holding between them. Any doubts that Deborah had been having about the path their life was taking were gone. Damn being a Sky God and keeping MJN afloat and resenting everyone going off to different jobs…she wouldn’t trade this in for the world, married to her best friend, she and Martin and their baby with their own house.

Everything new and infinitely better for it.

“Have you decided which name you liked?” Martin inquired, after a stretch of time that Deborah couldn’t care to measure, resting all together as they were, a nice warm bundle…a proper family all together…all together as things should have been from the very beginning. There weren’t many chances to do everything all over again _and_ keep the rewards of the last run, but this was good.

“They were all good…” Deborah replied, giving in to the tiredness that she had only just been keeping at bay as she stroked her bent finger over the faint but definitely present curls atop the curve of their daughter’s head; she vaguely remembered refusing Chris the chance to name Verity at all, and the thought of doing the same to Martin didn’t even cross her mind, “You can decide.”

“I um…I don’t like any of the ones we picked.” Martin stated sheepishly, clearing his throat and shifting even closer; it was as  if he thought that a cuddle and a baby attached to his hand might protect him, from what he had yet to reveal, “I-I-I thought of another one though.”

“If you suggest Amelia again, I will name her myself.” Deborah remarked curtly, changing her mind immediately, although she couldn’t muster the energy to be irritable; it was Martin being Martin, and she wouldn’t love him if he weren’t annoyingly persistent about all the wrong things, “We are not naming our daughter after a dead pilot.”

“Fine!” Martin huffed, as quietly as he could, pout tangible in the single syllable; his breath brushed against Deborah’s ear as he spoke more sweetly, as close as he could get to manipulation, “It’s not Amelia though, it’s another one – a-a-a pretty one…Flora.”

“That’s…that’s not bad actually.” Deborah admitted, raising her eyebrows as she glanced over her shoulder at him, pleased to see that he was biting his lip, waiting and making no effort not to look pleased with himself; she turned back to the baby, and sat back, leaning into his chest with her arms held out so that they could both inspect their wriggling, grumbling daughter, “She looks like a Flora…yes…I like that.”

“No need to sound so surprised.” Martin muttered, although the kiss that he pressed to Deborah’s cheek spoke volumes about how he was really feeling; his hold on her never lessened, and he didn’t even move from the bed when the midwife returned and suggested that he was in the way.

oOoOoOo

The only positive about having a baby so early in the morning was that Martin and Deborah could have hours to themselves, to enjoy their new child, before people started turning up to congratulate them. It had taken some convincing, but Martin had called the relevant people around five in the morning, and not long later Chris had arrived with Verity. He only stayed long enough to offer them a quick nod and wish them well, before departing to the cafeteria to wait for his daughter to finish her visit.

“Simon and Caitlin are both going to wait to see her until we’re at home, but Mum’s going to pop in as soon as she can.” Martin announced as he entered the ward again, slipping his phone into his pocket as he passed the other beds and slipped behind their curtain; he had tried to straighten himself out, but was still rosy cheeked and crinkled down to the folds in his shirt as he took the seat next to the bed, “Y-your brother said he’d come as soon as possible, b-but I told him you’d rather he waited.”

“Thank you, darling.” Deborah answered, offering him a faint smile which she was sure did nothing to remedy the bags under her eyes; she waited for him to smile in return, before letting her gaze wander back to settle on Verity as she held Flora with all the grace of a thirteen year old that had never held a baby before, “Archie can wait until we’re at home.”

“Can I see Uncle Archie as well?” Verity asked, head snapping up eagerly as she listened in to the conversation, perched on the end of the bed; although she cradled the wriggling bundle in her arms, her arms in turn rested on her folded legs, making absolutely sure she didn’t jar the child, “It’s been ages since he visited.”

“You mean it’s been ages since he spoiled you rotten.” Deborah muttered without any resolve; it would be nice to have them all together like they were now, even if her brother tried to stick his nose in, “You’ll have to ask your Dad if you can stay with us.”

“And you’d have to be on your best behaviour.” Martin informed her, as he scooched his chair nearer to the side of the bed, and adjusted Verity’s arm ever so slightly, so that she was supporting Flora’s head; that was about as strict as Martine ever got with her, “Your Mum’s going to need all the help she can get with Flora.”

“So will you.” Verity scoffed, giving him the sort of derisory eye roll, eyebrows arched, that she had mastered at some point in the last year, along with a more biting sense of humour, “At least Mum’s looked after a baby before.”

“I know how to look after a baby.” Martin insisted indignantly, although his eyes darted to Deborah’s as if looking for confirmation; when he received none, he tipped his nose into the air and resorted to the shrill ‘I am the Captain’ tone of voice that she was so used to, “I-I’ll be fine – I-I just need to get into the swing of it, that’s all. I’ve got two months off, s-so we’re going to be fine, j-just fine.”

“Sure you will.” Verity agreed, nodding and pursing her lips as if she believed him for a moment; then without warning she stuck out her arms, extending the baby towards Martin and shuffling to the edge of the bed quickly enough that Deborah worried for a moment, “My arms are itchy, can you take her back?”

Martin stood up before Verity could more than a few inches, and Flora was back in his arms, cradled safely and securely against his chest in time for Deborah to let out a breath and settle her hand back on the bed. He cooed and Flora gargled as Verity sat back and pulled out the phone that she wasn’t meant to have on the ward.

There was no time to scold her though, not that Deborah would have bothered, as the relative peace was broken by the tugging back of the curtains encompassing their area of the ward.

“Chaps!” Arthur exulted as his grinning face filled the previously empty space; he was at least three metres ahead of his mother and girlfriend, throwing his arms into the air as he hurried into to the side of the bed, peering over Deborah to try and see the wriggling, now squealing child in Martin’s arms. That he had prompted the shift from grumbling to whining didn’t seem to occur to him.

“Hello Arthur.” Deborah sighed, eyeing him as he rounded the bed, patting Verity on the shoulder before scurrying to Martin’s side, peering like a terrier into his arms; she spared only a fleeting glance to the late arrivals, “Carolyn, Sandra.”

“She is…BRILLIANT!” Arthur exclaimed, face lighting up even more as he watched Flora, ignoring the others as they filtered in, and Sandra pulled the curtains together once more; the baby grumbled even louder, her little arms flailing up and over Martin’s elbow, and Deborah could just about see her head turning towards the sound of Arthur’s voice, “Oh wow…look how tiny she is!”

“Arthur, dear, use your indoor voice.” Carolyn scolded him lightly, keeping her voice low as she passed Deborah and lowered herself into the chair that Martin had vacated; she watched him bounce Flora, cooing and murmuring to her, for only a moment before fixing Deborah with an odd, slightly touching, light in her eyes, “The last thing the child needs is another trauma after being forced into the world.”

“Sorry Skip.” Arthur whispered, hushing immediately, hunching over slightly as if that might help make him smaller; he allowed Sandra to hook her arm through his and pull him to stand against the wall, but not until he had swooped down to place a kiss on Deborah’s cheek, “Sorry Deborah.”

“God, you both look exhausted.” Sandra remarked, taking in their bedraggled states as she folded herself into the corner; she paid Martin to mercy of not crowding him, letting him quiet Flora down, “Hard night was it?”

“Don’t let looks deceive you.” Deborah replied wryly, plastering on a smirk with what little energy she had left, even as she lay back, letting down her guard regardless of how annoying it was to have to do so, “I’m not even awake right now…”

“Wow, Martin, you look like a Dad already.” Arthur whispered excitedly, catching Martin’s attention and making him blush furiously; not that Arthur cared, as he carried on, rocking on his heels as if he wanted to lurch forwards and get involved as he always did, “It’s like you didn’t even need to practice.”

“Well, I-I-I, um, it’s not too difficult.” Martin stammered, shrugging his shoulders as he rocked Flora a little too roughly, then tucked her back against his chest; her crying had turned into sniffles, but she was still making noise, and his eyes were fighting between watching her and glancing around the room at their guests, “N-not yet anyway – I-I-I don’t know what’s going to happen later…”

“If your parenting is anything like your piloting, you’ll pick it up soon enough.” Carolyn assured him, with that same odd look in her eyes as she tilted back in her seat to watch him turning this way and that on his heels.

“Was that a compliment?” Martin blurted, turning back to stare down at Carolyn, eyes wide, mouth agape; he looked to Deborah, then let out a laugh, unable as ever to let go of anything without wringing it out, “I-I think that was a compliment – y-you think I’m a good pilot.”

“I think you’re forgetting the years of ineptitude.” Carolyn retorted curtly, sniffing as she turned to smirk at Deborah, as if sharing an inside joke; it would be too much for her to admit that she was happy for them, or to do more than fold her hands in her lap instead of flustering like everyone else, “Just be thankful you can’t fly a child into a mountain.”

“I think Martin’s a great Dad.” Verity interjected, raising her voice just so to make it clear that enough attention had been wasted on the new arrivals as she sat up straighter on the end of the bed, pushing her long hair behind her ears as she beamed brightly up at Martin, “He’s had plenty of practice already.”

“You only think that because he lets you get away with anything.” Deborah scoffed, pinning her daughter with a stare that would have cowed a lesser child; she couldn’t say she really minded though, if it meant that Martin was the favourite step-parent, but the thought did make her chest well up with nostalgia, so she extended her arms and ushered her nearer, “Come here, give me a hug.”

Verity sighed and rolled her eyes again, but did as she was asked, slipping from the bed only to clamber back up beside her mother and allow Deborah to curl one arm around her waist; it wasn’t often that she got hugs now that she was a teenager, but it was a special occasion, and Deborah was going to take advantage of having her close enough to cuddle.

“She’s very well behaved.” Sandra noted, leaning past Arthur with her hands on her shoulders so that she could watch Martin swaying and grimacing as Flora’s whining grew fractionally louder; it was sweet of her to lie, “What did you call her?”

“Her name’s Flora…” Martin answered proudly, turning so that Sandra could see her properly; he bent down so that Carolyn could inspect the baby, glancing up at Deborah as his cheeks flushed a darker shade of scarlet, “a-and um, i-if it’s okay…we um…”

“We wanted to run her middle name by you.” Deborah cut in, smirking as she watched her baby quiet at the sight of the older woman, before whining one shrill whine, falling silent; it had taken a lot of thought for them to come to a decision, but she was sure that it had been a good one, “Carolyn…meet Flora Carolyn Crieff.”

“You…oh, you idiots, you didn’t name your child after me.” Carolyn sighed, shaking her head and placing a wrinkled hand over her eyes; she was touched, obviously, by the sentiment, not that she would ever admit to it, “That really is stupidly soppy – why on earth would you burden the poor girl like that?”

“I think it’s brilliant.” Arthur chirped, visibly fighting the temptation to follow Martin around the room. He met Deborah’s gaze and smiled, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even as the movement brought a fresh wave of exhaustion washing through her bones to rest all of its weight on her eyelids.

“You think everything’s brilliant.” Carolyn retorted, turning to glare at her son over her shoulder, pointedly avoiding looking Martin in the eye. He only shrugged, but it looked as if he were going to say something else.

“Would you like to know something else that’s brilliant?” Deborah inquired, as she rested her chin against the top of Verity’s head and relaxed back, fighting the stuffy tiredness that clung to her; she nodded to Martin for him to carry on in her place, as Arthur’s eyes widened expectantly.

“Arthur, we…we were wondering, Deborah and I...” Martin stammered, losing his nerve under the full power of Arthur’s anticipation; he took a deep breath and bounced the baby, gathering his resolve and glancing towards Deborah for one last nod of assent, “We were wondering whether you wanted to be Flora’s godfather.”

“That would be…BRILLIANT!” Arthur exclaimed, abandoning his hush as he threw his hands into the air with excitement; Flora’s grumbling rose again, but was ignored as Martin rocked her into silence, “I will be the best godfather EVER – I’ll buy her gifts, and teach her all sorts of things, and I’ll babysit when you need me, and I’ll-”

“I could do a good job too.” Verity interrupted, shifting against Deborah’s hold so that she could tilt her head back and pout at her mother; it wasn’t the first time she had raised the subject, and she was clever enough to know that Deborah’s guard was down, “Why can’t I be her godmother?”

“We’ve had this discussion, Verity.” Deborah replied, tugging on her waist so that she fell back into place; this wasn’t a fight that she was going to get into, “You’re her sister, and that’s enough.”

There was on time to argue, as like an unwanted angel wandering serenely onto the ward, the curtain was pulled back, and Herc appeared, smiling and smooth, hand clasped around something garish and fluffy. When she thought about it, Deborah had to admit, if she had been lucid, she really should have realised that he was missing at all. Hopefully no one would notice and she wouldn’t have to live it down or deal with his smarm.

“Hello all!” Herc announced, waving cheerfully at Martin and dropping Deborah a sickeningly indulgent smile; nobody moved to accommodate him, but he didn’t need them to for him to insert himself into the scene, passing around the end of the bed to stand beside Martin, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Hello Herc.” Martin greeted him warmly, tilting Flora so that he could show her off; he glanced towards Deborah, but realised that she wasn’t going to say hello, and hastened to be polite on her behalf, “Thank you for coming.”

“Oh, no worries Martin.” Herc assured him, patting him companionably on the back as if they were good friends; he raised the fluffy monstrosity into the air and waggled it in front of the baby, who Deborah was pleased to see just grumbled louder, “Congratulations…the both of you. I just stopped on the way to get the little one a gift.”

“Hercules, I told you that wasn’t necessary.” Carolyn scolded him, although Deborah would have preferred her to sound more irritated at being ignored; her reluctant smile just wasn’t good enough.

“No, no, that’s okay.” Martin promised, shifting his arms so that he could take the toy from Herc and hold it over Flora’s head, all without dropping her; it would have been a miraculous achievement had it not been so annoyingly sickeningly sweet, “It’s lovely…see, she likes it.”

Deborah wasn’t sure that Flora was capable of making decisions yet, but she was proud when her baby’s hand clenched around the fluffy monstrosity, only to release and hurl it to the floor. She continued to flail and complain, diverting Martin’s attention completely as he started pacing in what little space was left.

“Just make sure it’s safe.” Deborah piped up, plastering on a wan smile as she heaved herself up, nudging Verity to the side as she pressed her back against the headboard; there was only so much vulnerability that she was willing to share as more people filed in, “Thank you, Herc; that was a nice thought.”

“You’re welcome Deborah.” Herc replied, nodding graciously as he bent down to pluck the toy from the floor; he was in far too good a mood considering how early in the morning it was, “I hope you’re not feeling too awful; I understand this sort of thing can be strenuous.”

“Your concern is touching, it really is.” Deborah acknowledged his concern graciously, then stuck her arms out, ushering Martin back towards her; it was somewhat pitiful, but she was too tired, “Martin, give her here…” the moment that her baby was back in her arms, Deborah smiled a genuine smile, feeling better already with the rush of warmth to her chest; she supported Flora’s head and turned her to face Herc, lowering her voice, “Look there Flora…that there, is your first look at an imbecile.”

“That’s hardly fair.” Herc retorted, scrunching his face up as if he were insulted at the implication; he deserved it for being smug.

“And most certainly not true.” Carolyn snorted, shaking her head as she watched Flora blink and wriggle in her mother’s hold, as Verity unhelpfully tried to help her point at Herc, “She’s already seen Arthur.”

Verity giggled as Arthur let out an indignant noise, only to be silenced by Sandra’s hands on his shoulders hushing him with a whispered something in his ear. The bed dipped as Martin lowered himself down beside Verity, and Deborah couldn’t help but look at the mismatched gathering and sigh.

“Actually, as we’re all together...” Deborah started, clearing her throat to get everyone’ attention; she must have been more tired than she realised, as they had begun chattering amongst themselves, but she carried on as if nothing had happened, “Martin and I wanted to talk to you.”

“Mostly to Carolyn and Arthur.” Martin added brightly, then waved his hand towards Sandra and Herc, tripping over his words in his haste to excuse himself, “N-not that you two can’t listen in, b-but you wouldn’t be much help.”

“Why?” Carolyn inquired, narrowing her eyes at him and sitting forwards in her chair, folding her hands together; she couldn’t be blamed for thinking that Martin was trying to hide something; it wouldn’t have been the first time, “What have you done?”

“We’ve got a proposition for you.” Deborah drawled, as she settled Flora more comfortably on her lap; this she was confident about, positively excited in fact, “If I’m not mistaken, I think you’re going to like it.”

oOoOoOo

The two months following Flora’s arrival were possibly two of the most frantic, but also the most enjoyable of Deborah’s life. There were sleepless nights, a blur of nappies and feedings and baby-proofing the house…but there were also thousands of cuddles and watching their baby grow more real and more happy, gargling and settling into life, learning to focus on their faces and recognise their voices, learning to love her parents and take visible comfort from them as she snuggled into Deborah’s hold at night, or lay her ear against Martin’s chest.

There had been a few hitches, of course; namely Deborah’s sneaking suspicion that Martin didn’t want to go back to work when his two months were over. There had been a small argument, but that was all smoothed over with Martin promising that he wouldn’t ever imagine abandoning flying to stay at home with the baby…even he had to admit that he would probably regret doing something so rash.

And yet, Deborah could understand why he might. If there was one thing that she had noticed in the past two months, and one thing that made every second of bickering and misery worth it, it was how much Martin loved Flora.

He _adored_ her, and there was no doubt at all that Flora _loved_ her Daddy.

Martin spent every moment that Flora was awake pandering to her, making sure that if Deborah was too tired to feed her or change her nappy or to play with her, that he was there to take her place, only just managing not to be pushy. Even as the bags under his eyes grew darker, and he yawned more often, Martin kept smiling and laughing and playing with Flora constantly; he would lie on the floor with her, read to her, hurl her in the air the moment that she was able to support her head…he was completely devoted to her, diverting his attention only to wrap his arms around Deborah at the most inappropriate of times.

And Flora…Flora lit up whenever Martin was in the room. She was a happy baby anyway, cheering up after about a week of getting used to her new home, but when her Daddy was around she flailed a little more frantically and clung to his shirt when he picked her up, chewing on his collar. Perhaps it was the months that he had spent talking to Deborah’s stomach, or just the loving ups and downs in his tone, but Flora cooed and quieted at the sound of his voice, and followed his movements with her eyes.

Which was good, as it meant that Deborah could set up her laptop and negotiate setting up a business with Carolyn, while Martin played with the baby in the middle of the lounge.

As Deborah flicked the last of the water from her hands, placing the now clean baby bottles onto the counter, she turned and glanced back into the lounge, where she could just see the tip of Martin’s socks poking out from behind the sofa. When she wandered back to lean against the doorframe, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes and sigh at the sight she was met with.

Flora was laid out on her back on top of a toy mat that they had bought her, batting her arms at the toys that were hanging from the bars that arced over her head. Martin was laid out as well, on his front, big book open under his nose.

“Martin, you’ve read that book twice already.” Deborah remarked dryly as she paced into the room and lowered herself down onto her knees at Flora’s other side, tracing her fingers over her baby’s stomach as she kicked and cooed, turning her head to smile at her; this was definitely a conversation they had had before, “Put it away before I bludgeon you to death with it.”

“I’m just going over it again.” Martin muttered, flicking the page over with the same focus that he showed the operations manual, nose almost touching the paper; he spared her a brief grin, and then turned back to the book, “There’s no harm in being absolutely sure.”

“You’ve been looking after our daughter for nearly two months now.” Deborah sighed, as she tickled Flora’s stomach, letting her daughter reach up and grip her wrist; for all that she would have liked to tease her husband, it would have been even nicer to see Martin have a little faith in himself, “I have absolute faith in your abilities, without reading the baby manual.”

“I will, I-I promise.” Martin insisted, nodding his head, although he didn’t make a single effort to move away from the book, “I’m just making sure I don’t mess something up, o-or forget something important.”

“Mess something up?” Deborah inquired, quirking an eyebrow at him and deciding not to bite her tongue; she could imagine just how wrong things could go, and it wouldn’t be because Martin hadn’t read enough, “You mean like when you were so busy reading that damned book you held Flora upside-down?”

“That was an accident!” Martin replied shrilly, finally pushing the book away from him as he rose up onto his elbows and turned on his side so that he could reach out and stroke the point where Flora’s palms clasped Deborah’s wrist; his petulant pout did nothing to hide his guilt, “And besides…it was the first time she ever smiled properly.”

“That’s because she’s a silly baby who likes being whirled around and thrown in the air.” Deborah purred, offering Martin a sweet smile to assure him that she wasn’t _really_ upset about that particular incident; then she rose up on her knees so that she could lean over Flora, beaming at her as she squealed and wriggled as her pudgy tummy was tickled and scrunched, “Aren’t you sweetheart?”

“Maybe she’s going to be a fighter pilot?” Martin suggested, gasping as he pushed Deborah’s hair behind her shoulder to get a closer look; he held her gaze and gesticulated wildly, shifting where he lay, “She doesn’t get dizzy, so she doesn’t have my ear problem – she could be a fighter pilot.”

“Or maybe she’s just a silly baby.” Deborah cooed, in a flimsy tone of voice that she would ever admit to having used, but had been using more and more lately as she leaned over Flora and watched her tiny lips stretch into a bigger and bigger smile with each tickle underneath her arms, “ _Yes_ …you are a silly baby, _aren’t_ you… _yes_ …very silly, just like Daddy.”

“Maybe Mummy should go and finish her video call.” Martin suggested, as he slipped his hand into Flora’s and let her swing it over her head; he made a point of glaring Deborah in the eyes, “What do you think Flora?”

“ _Are you two quite finished?_ ” Carolyn’s voice wafted from the laptop open on the coffee table just in time, as Deborah rose to her feet and tread around the toy mat; she had forgotten that she had been in the middle of a discussion, but couldn’t make herself feel guilty for the despairing face framed on the screen, “ _I don’t have all day you know; I happen to be busy cobbling together your company._ ”

“Something for which I am most grateful.” Deborah drawled as she perched on the edge of the sofa and pushed the screen back so that she could pretend she was meeting Carolyn’s gaze; everything was being set up for her, all that she had to do was dole out the flattery and make sure she knew what was going on, “There’s not a single person that I’d trust more to take care of legal proceedings, management, funds, and all things that come with being a CEO.”

“ _False flattery will get you nowhere_.” Carolyn retorted, shaking her head; then a shark-like smirk plucked at her lips, and she asked in a wheedling tone of voice,  “ _Are you sure Arthur isn’t the CEO, what with GERTI being his plane_?”

“Do you really want your son in a position of authority?” Deborah shot back, as she rested her elbows on her knees, her knuckles underneath her chin; it didn’t dare thinking about. She and Arthur had had this discussion, and she had carefully avoided even hinting that he might be in charge.

 _“It’s a chilling thought_.” Carolyn agreed grimly, blinking as if she had entered a fugue state in which she envisioned her darkest nightmares; then she clapped her hands together and informed her, “ _Well, everything’s pretty much in place – you’ll have to cover the marketing though_.”

“I’ve done it before, I can do it again.” Deborah remarked solemnly, ignoring the sour taste on her tongue at the idea; they had dragged MJN from the dirt once before, and it had been an exhausting rush of posters and leaflets and website redesigns, “We’re aiming for a larger group of customers, so it shouldn’t be too difficult…I’ve even got Verity telling all of her friends to book birthday parties in the sky.”

“ _That’s not bad actually_.” Carolyn noted, shockingly it seemed; she sounded reasonably impressed, although that couldn’t possibly be true, “ _In fact, I think that might be the most effort I’ve even seen you put into your career, asking your daughter to do the legwork aside. On another note; what are you calling your airline?_ ”

“MJN.” Deborah replied, squaring her jaw as she heard Martin scoff behind her; it wasn’t that funny…it was nostalgic, and people would appreciate the familiarity.

“ _Really_?” Carolyn exclaimed, scoffing and smirking, expression set into one on the precipice of taking pleasure from Deborah’s pain; she would remember this for months to come, of that Deborah was sure, “ _You have the chance to flaunt your ego, and instead you’re sticking with MJN_.”

“As you point out Carolyn, this is the perfect opportunity to flaunt my ego.” Deborah drawled, wishing that she had a smarter retort; as it was, she could only wet her lips and grit her teeth, accepting her rather dreary lot in life…it was worth it though, “However, as you also point out, it’s Arthur’s plane, and Arthur wants the airline to be called MJN.”

“ _Well…there’s not a lot anyone can do to change his mind.”_ Carolyn sighed, and shrugged her shoulders; she looked down, presumably at her wrist, “ _I have a meeting in half an hour, so I’m going to leave you now_.”

Their goodbyes had never been drawn out, and that tradition hadn’t changed. Once Carolyn’s image was gone from the screen Deborah closed the lid and turned back to peer over the back of the sofa, closing her eyes for only a moment to wash away the work related buzz inside her skull.

She was pleased to see that while Martin’s book was still open on the floor, the man himself was lying on his back with Flora front-down on his chest. Her arms were splayed and she was kicking her legs in all directions, as Martin’s hands curled around her middle, lifting her from his chest into the air, making ridiculous noises all the while, brushing his nose against hers.

“Brrrrrrprprprrrrrrr.” It was only when Deborah stood and wandered back to fall to the floor beside them that she realised Martin was making what sounded like engine noises, and that Flora’s round cheeks were pink, her eyes bright as he pouted his lips and continued to make a fool of himself, “Bup, bup, bup – brrrrr.”

“What _is_ Daddy doing to you?” Deborah cooed, letting the warm fluttering settle in her chest as she sat back, leg brushing Martin’s, and stroked the back of his hand through his ginger hair; she wasn’t really mad at him, not anymore at least, and not in front of Flora, “Hello sweetheart…hello…”

“We’re playing aeroplane.” Martin answered for her, as he bounced Flora one last time and lowered her onto his chest, where she proceeded to pound her tiny fists and raise her head, smiling with the joy that only babies could produce; he tilted his head into Deborah’s touch and pointed frantically at their daughter’s back, “She’s lifting her head up – look, a-and she keeps smiling.”

“That’s because she loves you.” Deborah murmured, lifting her free hand to stroke over Flora’s soft curls, which were already beginning to turn ginger, more slowly than her eyes had turned a dark brown; times were changing, and things were moving on, “Martin, I’ve had a thought…about how you’re going back to work in a week or two. And I’m going to starting just as soon as MJN gets some bookings.”

“That shouldn’t take too long, should it?” Martin remarked, so sure of himself, or of her…for someone who was painfully aware of all of Deborah’s flaws, his faith in her was still astounding, “Everyone wants to fly in their own private jet, e-especially if it’s cheap.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Deborah agreed, nodding as she pressed her lips together; it would have been nice if he had taken his eyes from Flora’s when she was talking to him, but that wasn’t something she could criticise him for, “My thought however, was more along the lines of getting Flora acquainted to flying _before_ my first job.”

“You mean the two of us take her up in GERTI?” Martin asked, finally paying attention, turning his head, brow furrowing; he hugged Flora tighter, so that he could sit up a little more and blinked hopefully at her.

“That would be nice, but I think we’d be losing money if we did that.” Deborah replied, taking her time in answering, and tracing her fingers from his hand down the back of his neck, “I was thinking more along the lines of you going back to work, and then Flora and I book tickets for one of your short flight up to Scotland or across to Ireland.”

“Oh, yes!” Martin exclaimed, sitting up completely and freeing one hand to grasp at Deborah’s shoulder, “Then we could spend my hours rest together in the city before we come back.” He barely even waited for Deborah to nod before he held Flora away from him and bounced her in the air, cooing ridiculously, “What do you think about that Flora? You get to come and fly on Daddy’s plane!”

oOoOoOo

It had been a long time since Deborah had been a passenger on a plane, and even longer since she had been on a commercial flight with a load of other passengers all going about their business and muttering amongst themselves. This flight would be a short one, but she had managed to wangle the seats nearest the flight-deck (she suspected that Martin had played some part in that), and Flora was behaving herself so far…in as much as she was only grumbling and refusing to sit still instead of screaming as she had been in the car on the way to the airport.

It was strange seeing the inside of Martin’s new workplace. The stewards were polite and professional, everything was carefully folded away, and the addresses were perfunctory; it was all very odd, but Deborah could imagine, with a faint prickle in her guts, that Martin loved the professionalism of the whole ordeal.

When the plane took off and tilted towards the sky, Flora’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in a shocked gasp, and she twisted in Deborah’s arms until she was staring her up at her mother; it was as if she were waiting for an explanation, bewildered by her Mummy’s hasty smiles and attempts to cheer her up.

“Hey baby, hey…shhh now, shh…” Deborah soothed, bouncing Flora on her knee as the ‘ding-dong’ sounded above their heads; she was beginning to fuss again, and it was important that she learnt to enjoy flying, “Listen, listen now – can you hear Daddy?”

“ _Hello – this is your Captain speaking, Captain Martin Crieff.”_ Martin’s voice filtered into the cabin clear and professional, just like he had always wanted; Flora stilled, and fell silent, as if she recognised her Daddy’s voice but couldn’t figure out why it was coming from nowhere, _“I’d like to welcome you all on this flight from Heathrow to Glasgow, and thank you for flying Fast Jets UK. Now I’ll hand you over to my First Officer.”_

As the First Officer began reeling off a list of details that Deborah didn’t care for, she cuddled Flora closer and murmured in her ear, stroking her hand over her soft curls. Some of the other guests were eyeing her baby warily, as if expecting her to cry out and ruin their flight, but they weren’t quite at that stage yet.

“I used to sit up the front – just there – with Daddy on our plane.” Deborah whispered as she bounced Flora and listened for her grumbling to cease at the sound of her voice; she leaned back slightly to see that she was being watched, albeit blearily, “He used to be a lot funnier when he was talking to the passengers.”

A few more minutes passed, in which Deborah pointedly ignored the other people around them. Then she heard the familiar swish of a flight-deck door, and the even more familiar clumsy footfalls heading down the aisle.

“ _Martin_ …” Deborah whispered as she looked up, only to see Martin striding to stand at her side, prim and proper in his black uniform, hands hooked behind his back as he nodded awkwardly at the passing stewardess; his indulgent smile and proud glow did nothing to allay her confusion, “Don’t you have something rather important to do? In some way related to flying the plane?”

“I’m allowed a short break to pop to use the toilet.” Martin replied, voice hushed as if he didn’t want to be overheard; nevertheless, he bent at the knees until he was crouched at the arm of her seat, and reached across to take Flora from her, tucking her against his chest and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “Hello sweetheart…come here, let Daddy give you a kiss.”

“Is there a problem Captain?” the honeyed tone of the Head Stewardess shattered whatever shimmer of affection that had manifested in Deborah’s chest; the woman was standing at Martin’s elbow, glaring up at him with the same disdain that one might find in an aunt that hated their nephew’s outrageous behaviour.

“N-no, there’s no problem.” Martin excused himself, although he didn’t stop rocking Flora or nodding along to her erratic squeaking that Deborah assumed was a detailed description of her recent adventure; if his stammering was any indication, he was having as much success enforcing his authority as he ever had, “I’m just um…just saying hello to my daughter – a-and my wife. No problem whatsoever.”

“I think perhaps you should head back to the flight-deck.” Deborah murmured as the stewardess walked away as Martin deposited Flora back in her arms, straightening out the lapels of his jacket; the last thing she wanted was to get him in trouble, “We’ll see you when we land.”

“Is she enjoying herself?” Martin asked, lowering his voice as he leaned in, one hand on the back of her seat, ignoring the odd looks that the other passengers were most likely sending him, “She’s not scared is she?”

“No, she’s not scared at all.” Deborah assured him, plastering on a smile and squeezing Flora tightly to make her squeal happily at the attention, just to prove a point; she wasn’t scared, just irritable at the change in her routine, that was all, “How could she be with us as parents?”

“Good…g-good.” Martin nodded slowly and straightened up, adjusting his tie and pushing his hat more securely on his head; he looked almost sorry as he continued, despite the thread of deviousness laced through his voice, “I should head back to the flight-deck – they’re really strict here.”

“I thought you loved it strict.” Deborah teased, smirking at the bashful flush of Martin’s cheeks against the spattering of freckles; she had thought that he’d be thriving in such a precise environment, in a way that she never had, “Everything by the book.”

Martin, in all his mastery of the spoken word, just scrunched his nose up at her and turned on his heel, returning moment later to give Flora another kiss before disappearing for good.

oOoOoOo

“I could get used to this.” Martin remarked as he lounged back on the bench, pivoting Flora so that she could see the park that they had found, although he seemed more interested in trying to stick her whole fist in her mouth; she hadn’t succeeded yet, but the Crieff mantra was something close to ‘try and try again’.

“You better hope that my clients book lots of weekends then.” Deborah replied, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other, so that her shin brushed up against Martin’s knee and Flora’s toes; she had to admit, if only inwardly, that such a thing came true, if only to make running an airline with just her and Arthur more manageable, “I’m not paying Fast Jets UK for any more tickets with their rates.”

“You’re lucky I kept my MJN uniform.” Martin laughed, shifting Flora on his knee as she splatted a saliva covered fist onto his smart trousers; even so, he did at least try to keep looking at Deborah throughout their conversation, maintaining the airy smile that he had been carrying since he had vacated his plane to find them waiting for him, “I wouldn’t be able to fly with you in this.”

“I don’t think anyone really cares what colour their pilots are wearing.” Deborah promised sagely; she didn’t think anyone would really care, seeing as she would be locking him in the flight-deck so that everyone knew she was in charge, “So long as you’ve got a hat, which lord knows, you do.”

Martin scoffed and rolled his eyes, but otherwise said nothing as he cuddled Flora and nodded along to her unintelligible babbling. Then a wicked glint came into his eyes, and Deborah only had time to see him smirk before he whipped his hat from his head and drop it over hers; the movement had her unfolding her legs and wobbling forwards, but she maintained her composure, only resisting fighting back because it might risk dropping the baby.

Flora of course squealed in delight, eyes fixed on the hat as she beamed with childish joy and waved her hands in the air. She always reacted like that whenever Martin did anything.

“Do you like that?” Martin asked in a lilting whisper, pointing around her Flora’s chest as he held her up beside his cheek to better inspect Deborah; as he met her expectant gaze, he smiled, a nostalgic, soppy smile that had her melting, “Mummy looks lovely, doesn’t she? Just like a Captain should look.”

And not a hint of jealousy.

“I think she’s more mesmerised by the ridiculous amount of gold braid.” Deborah drawled, as she pushed the hat more comfortably over her hair; then she leaned in and took Flora’s pudgy, flailing hands in hers, “Which is good, because Daddy’s MJN hat has _even more_ – you’re going to love it!”

If she hadn’t been so close, she didn’t think she would have heard Martin sigh, a sound that rattled through his chest.

“Is it me, or has everything turned out alright for us?” Martin inquired coyly, as if he didn’t want her to hear it as Deborah leant back; his eyes lingered on Flora’s curls, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, “Like, there’s literally not a single thing I can think of to complain about.”

“Don’t count your sheep so soon, darling.” Deborah retorted, forcing herself not to feel too much either way at the hope, or the disbelief in his tone; she folded her arms over her chest and made herself think realistically into the future, making light of it, “We’ve got a _lot_ ahead of us…and I’ve never known you to do anything the easy way.”

“Neither do you.” Martin snorted, and just like that everything was fine in his world; he kept one hand around Flora’s stomach as he rearranged her on his lap, adopting the same prim demeanour that he had adopted for years on end, “Need I remind you of all the awful and dangerous things you’ve done in the time we’ve known each other – a-and that’s only _starting_ with the bears, and the keys on that van job.”

“Fine, if that’s the way you want to look at it.” Deborah scoffed, quirking her eyebrows and wetting her lips; she unfolded her arms and raised her finger to tilt Flora’s chin up until she was looking her daughter in the eyes, “I’m sorry sweetheart, but you haven’t got a hope in the world with your Mummy and Daddy the way we are.”

With that Deborah whipped the hat from her head and placed it gently over Flora’s own, letting the rim fall down over her eyes. Flora let out a gasp, and stilled like a statue as Martin chuckled underneath her, chest shuddering with the effort; it was as if her babyish world had ceased to exist.

Then she tipped her head back and the hat went with it, and she blinked as the light hit her eyes, mouth falling open as she was gifted with the sight of her Mummy; one glance over her shoulder and Flora saw that her Daddy was there as well. Just like that she beamed and squealed, and Martin’s hat became the newest toy in a list of things that she would chew.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

In retrospect, they shouldn’t have expected their new company to be a success straight away. MJN-02, as Arthur had been calling it, still needed to gather customers and up their marketing, promote itself and increase its publicity…something which Carolyn had failed to inform them took months to do. That was alright though. It gave Deborah time to prepare things properly, have Martin go over the books, have Carolyn go over the contacts and insurance, have Arthur…do whatever it was Arthur did…and then leap in at the last minute so that nobody could question that it was _her_ company.

Besides, it would be far easier to take a five-month-old in the air than a two-month-old. Flora had been up in GERTI once or twice since Martin had gone back to work, and each time she became more comfortable, less whiny, and far more manageable. Deborah wasn’t sure if she was getting used to it or…or if she was just being Flora.

Flora, who even though she was still a baby, had already developed a very decided personality. Deborah and Martin loved her to bits, and Arthur took his godfatherly duties to heart…and there was no denying that that had had an effect. Flora was wonderful. Flora was a beautiful baby, not to difficult, developing at a normal rate…

Flora was…happy. Not just happy... _Arthur_ levels of happy… _all the time_ … _cheery_ …

There was nothing lovelier than hearing their baby laugh and giggle and smile and light up whenever her parents were in the room, but Deborah found herself wondering… _how_?

Of course, Martin noted a fair share of her mother in her. It was obvious that just like Deborah, Flora was particular. She would sit and watch in silence as things went on around her, give Martin odd looks when he gave her the wrong toys, and make sharp reprimanding squeaks when she didn’t like her food…Martin swore that when she didn’t like the food she was given Flora would quirk her eyebrows at him just like his wife, but Deborah had yet to catch her at it.

All that she could see in their daughter were bucket-loads of Martinish enthusiasm as Flora hurled herself, often face first, into everything she did, shrill and squeaky, her nose scrunching up just as his did between the freckles that were starting to appear on her cheeks. Enthusiasm…and desperation for attention.

Which was exactly why, when MJN got their first new clients and the day of the flight arrived, Deborah handed Flora over to Herc and Carolyn so that they could walk her around the airfield as she ran Arthur through their schedule. Anything to tire her out before the flight…dear lord, anything.

It was good to be back in their porta-cabin again. Deborah had never thought that she would give a damn about the rusting hut, but boy had she been wrong. All they needed was Carolyn back in her office, now Deborah’s, and Martin behind the desks which Deborah had pushed back together…out of sentiment, although she told Arthur that it was for symmetry.

“Alright, Arthur.” Deborah announced as she propped her hands up atop her desk, either side of the papers and timetables that she had spread out for him to see, large font and colour coded; they had been over it once already, but she wanted to make absolutely sure that nothing went wrong, “Are you absolutely sure you’ve got all of this?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Arthur sighed, as he leant down beside her, rolling his eyes as he looked at the schedule; he was in a better mood than usual, thrilled to be in his steward’s uniform again, and as a result had adopted his superior, not-quite-all-knowing demeanour, “I _have_ been a steward for years, Deborah.”

“Of course you have.” Deborah assured him, considering for only a moment before standing back and folding her arms around her chest to allow him more room; perhaps she was worrying too much, so eager to have everything go perfectly that she was turning into some horrible blend of Carolyn and Martin, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Although, it might be a good idea to run me through the plan again.” Arthur chimed, just as Deborah was about to walk away; he glanced sheepishly over his shoulder and tapped the ‘work-journal’ that she had set out for him, and that he was to use to plan every flight they took from now on, like a proper professional, “Just so that I’m _really_ sure what order everything goes in.”

“I _see_ …fine, we’ve got time.” Deborah conceded, shifting back to his side so that she could pluck the folder from the desk; she pushed it into his hands, making sure to smile authoritatively as he took it, making sure that he actually opened it to read along as she spoke, “Everything you need to do is _here_ , on this handy little checklist the client wrote up for me.”

“So she’s planning on proposing to her girlfriend on the flight, and then spending the afternoon in Paris?” Arthur mumbled as he peered down at the printed words, the same words that he had already seen a handful of times, “And I need to come in at these times with romantic food and presents and the ring – that’s a brilliant idea.”

“Yes, it’s lovely.” Deborah agreed solemnly, doing her best to hold his gaze despite its erratic flickering; they were being paid a lot for this flight, and it had to go well, “But, Arthur, this is very important – the girlfriend doesn’t know this is a proposal, so we’re taking the scenic route to Paris to give them time. _You_ are only to go to the Cabin when the client rings the service bell; the rest of the time you need to move between the Galley and the flight-deck.”

“How will I know if I’m needed in the flight-deck?” Arthur asked, closing the folder and holding it against his chest, pinning her with as narrowed a stare as he was capable of producing.

“If I need you to come and sort Flora out, I’ll also ring the service bell.” Deborah informed him, pursing her lips at the thought; a lot to go wrong, a lot…especially with Arthur holding the plane together while she was stuck at the front, “She should behave herself, but you never know; she’s just like Martin in that respect.”

“Aw, but she’ll love flying.” Arthur insisted, face lighting up with excitement; he paced around the desks until he could drop down onto the edge of the sofa, pulling out his little electronic clock that Sandra had bought him to keep to deadlines, “It would be silly if she didn’t with both of you being pilots – that’s how it works isn’t it?”

“How what works?” Deborah inquired, following him as far as the front of the desks so that she could hop up and lounge on the edge; there was little else to do but start the plane, and there was no point doing that until their clients arrived, “You mean genetics?”

“Yeah.” Arthur nodded, eyes darting between his clock and her as he moved the day’s schedule into it.

“You know Arthur, with all my piloting, an expert knowledge of genetics has passed me by.” Deborah remarked, rolling her eyes as she watched him; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought about it, what with Martin’s constant tittering over what their daughter could be doing in the coming years, in the aeronautical industry; the last thing she wanted to do was think about her growing up, “Perhaps _you_ should look into it.”

“No, that sounds like a lot of hard work.” Arthur replied dismissively, shaking his head as he tapped away, “Sandra probably knows; she’ll explain it to me.”

Thankfully, Carolyn chose that moment to sweep through the door, freshly oiled and repaired in their absence, followed swiftly by Herc, who was rocking and bouncing Flora as if she were still a new-born incapable of glaring at him in bewilderment. The tiny fist stuffed in her mouth was evidence enough of her annoyance with his rambling as her big brown eyes wandered towards her mother.

“Your clients are here.” Carolyn informed them as she pulled off her gloves and dropped them onto Deborah’s desk; she nodded towards the window with the same steadfast efficiency that she had always brought to the airfield with her, “Their car just pulled up in the customer car park.”

“I’ll go and meet them.” Arthur declared, and he dropped both the folder and his clock onto the sofa as he leapt to his feet; he hardly waited a moment before weaving past Herc and his mother, reaching for the door in three quick strides, “Wish me luck!”

He was gone before any of them had time to wish him so much as a farewell, taking with him the faint draught. Deborah took the opportunity to slip from her desk and straighten herself out, tucking her jacket properly closed, epaulets tugged into their appropriate place, hair touched lightly with the tips of her fingers.

“Here we go.” Herc cooed, crossing the room as Flora began to whinge, waggling her arms towards Deborah with a wide smile on her cheeks, one that threatened to waved if he didn’t move more quickly; his sharp, shrill, babbling trill was irritating at best as he let Deborah slip her arms between his and take Flora from him, “She was perfectly well behaved, all the way around the airfield.”

“Thank you.” Deborah muttered as she tucked Flora against her shoulder, counterbalancing her weight as she turned to survey the room, knocking her cheek with her tiny elbow; seizing the chance to vent some of her trepidation for the day, she turned back to Herc and instructed his curtly, “Please don’t talk to my baby like that.”

“You talk to her like that.” Herc retorted, nonetheless stepping back to give her space, leaning against the desks as if he owned the place, folding his hands together over his lap; it was all that she could do not to pay attention to the smarmy edge to his expression, “I’ve heard you talking to her like that whilst peering over your shoulder.”

“So I assume you’ve both got plans for today.” Deborah remarked airily, turning back to Carolyn, who had taken Arthur’s seat on the sofa and was inspecting their schedule from the end of her nose; a quick smile and a swift dismissal, and she’d be allowed to get on with preparing their first job…it was hard to think properly the more people filtered into the room, “It’s a shame to see you go, but ta-ra!”

“Herc has plans.” Carolyn replied brightly, dropping the schedule and smiling serenely, shark-like up at her as she rested her hands on the lines of her smart outfit; too smart actually, for a day out with her boyfriend-partner-none-of-the-above, “I am going to Paris for the afternoon.”

“Oh _really_?” Deborah inquired, raising her eyebrows as dread began to mount in her guts at the implication; it would be just like Carolyn to stick her nose in now, she had the right to after all the work she had put in, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to accept it, “Well isn’t that a _charming_ coincidence.”

“Don’t play dumb with me Deborah.” Carolyn scolded her lightly, nevertheless retaining her odd glee at the idea; there would be no dissuading her, not now that she had made up her mind, “I’m coming with you on GERTI so that I can oversee everything that goes on.”

“That’s really not necessary-” Deborah started, only to be interrupted the moment that her attention was stalled by a hiccup from the child in her arms.

“I did tell her you wouldn’t take kindly to that idea.” Herc remarked, exchanging a droll glance with Carolyn; she shrugged her shoulders and he carried on, as if digging up an argument that they had had many times before, “MJN isn’t your responsibility anymore.”

“I know it’s not my responsibility.” Carolyn assured him, before turning her attention back to Deborah; she leant forwards and hooked her hands together over her knees, fixing her with a pointed glare that she had never been able to oppose successfully, “However, as this is yours and Arthur’s first flight out on your own, with _passengers_ and a _baby_ , I’m not risking anything.”

It was a tempting proposition, it really was…but Martin wouldn’t accept help if _he_ was the one running MJN. Damn it, three years ago _Deborah_ wouldn’t have even considered _needing_ help…the least she could do was put up a fight.

“Carolyn, I don’t need you to oversee anything.” Deborah insisted, bouncing Flora against her hip as she made a point of standing tall and not quavering under the stress; it would be wonderful to relinquish the reins a bit, but she just couldn’t do that, not if she hoped to carry on…she couldn’t live with the shame, “I realise you may have forgotten this in the past few months, but I happen to be a _good_ pilot.”

“But you’re missing your _safe_ pilot.” Carolyn stated sternly, ignoring the flash that Deborah was sure crossed her face with the pang of dejection that she felt at the reminder, “I was happy leave you all be when Martin was here, but when it’s just you and Arthur…I just need to know that he’s capable of handling the pressure while you’re occupied flying the plane.”

At that Flora let out a high pitched squeal and began clapping her hands together next to Deborah’s ear murmuring ‘ _mumummmumummummum_ ’ all the while. For a moment Deborah watched her babble cheerfully and felt her resolve slip completely; there were only so many directions that her attention could be pulled, at least for now, while they were still working out the kinks.

“Oh, alright then.” Deborah conceded, letting her eyes fall closed as Carolyn let out a noise of victory; when she opened them again she extended her arms, holding Flora away from herself, “If you want to help, you could always take Flora up to the flight-deck while Arthur and I get the passengers settled.”

A little help wouldn’t hurt…not really…Carolyn would step back once the flight was over.

oOoOoOo

So far everything was going well. Carolyn was keeping out of the way in the Cabin, cross-checking Arthur’s cleaning regime, since it had been a long time since they had entertained guests aboard GERTI. Arthur was standing quietly, under orders of course, between the Galley and the flight-deck, awaiting further instructions.

Unlike when Martin had been Captain, Deborah allowed their clients onto the flight-deck for the welcome, giving them the full tour of the plane that they had hired, a special courtesy. The women were lovely, charming, and a far lot more pleasant than their previous assortment of snotty and wealthy clients; it could only be hoped that the future promised the same degree of ease.

Furthermore…Flora was going down a storm. Apparently having a baby on board appealed to customers much more than any of them had expected.

“Oh, isn’t she beautiful.” The petite young blonde woman, the one that was in the dark as to their purpose, cooed as she knelt down in front of the Captain’s seat, where Deborah had fastened the child-carrier as her partner, dark skinned with a plait running down her back, peered over her shoulder, “Can I hold her?”

“Of course you can – just be sure to hold her like this…” Deborah replied, stepping forwards gracefully to lift Flora, gargling and beaming from her seat and lift her into the woman’s arms,  “…there.” She remarked as she arranged her elbows; once she was sure that Flora was secure, she looked across the flight-deck and caught the eyes of their client, “Arthur, would you like to take this young lady on a tour of the Cabin?”

“Tatiana, please.” The woman sighed, never taking her eyes from Flora as she bounced her and played with her flailing hands; she turned on cue, treading back towards the Galley without having to be helped, her attention captured entirely as Arthur moved to her side, “Hello baby…you are lovely.”

“If you would like to step this way madam, we can commence the navigation of our Cabin.” Arthur declared, twirling his hand through the air as he guided Tatiana away from the flight-deck; his voice carried on for a few moments, reeling off this and that about GERTI that wasn’t entirely true…about any plane. It was only when they couldn’t hear him anymore that Deborah turned back to their knowledgeable client.

“Ms Holloway, you wanted a word.” Deborah remarked as she folded her arms around her middle and stepped through the gap between the seats to face her properly; this was more like it, professional, back on the job, cool and calm and confident…perfect, “Did you want to make any changes to your schedule?”

“Fleur, please.” The client assured her, batting a hand through the air; she was nervous, suitably so considering what she had planned, but she smiled sweetly and made an effort to be polite and engaging, promising Arthur a tip before he had done more than shake their hands, “No, the schedule is good, thank you, for everything. No, I just wanted to ask about the flight itself.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Deborah promised, lowering her tone into a lilting purr, playing the part just as she always had; oh, it was wonderful to stand nice and smartly in her uniform, putting things right however she could, “Here at MJN we like to provide the _height_ of comfort, the way that _you_ want it.”

“That’s wonderful.” Fleur nodded anxiously, intertwining her fingers, then unwinding them and pushing them through the few loose strands of hair that fell over her face, “I was wondering, actually just thinking, that as we’re only flying to Paris, and it’s quite a short flight even with the extra miles you’re adding, that it might be nice if when we were flying over the Channel, we could see it through the windows.”

“You want me to fly close enough to the Channel that you get a good view?” Deborah inquired, quirking an eyebrow in surprise; it was entirely doable, but if Martin had been there he would be vehemently denying that they could do it…it _was_ against CAA regulations in their aircraft after all.

“Yes, please, if you could.” Fleur nodded again, plastering on an imploring smile that seemed more like a grimace when charged with nerves; she shrugged her shoulders hopelessly, “That won’t cause problems will it? Can the plane go that low without crashing?”

“Oh yes, absolutely.” Deborah assured her, although she did feel a pang of guilt at the thought of Martin finding out; she was confident in her ability to pull it off though, completely, without mistakes, “I’ll make an announcement when we start the descent, give you both a good show.”

“Thank you so much.” Fleur exclaimed, raising her hands to press her palms over her chest, as if overcome with emotion; she beamed properly this time, then turned, glancing towards the Galley, rocking on her heels as she spoke, “Give me a moment and I’ll fetch your baby back from my girlfriend.”

oOoOoOo

To everyone’s amazement, the flight was still going smoothly even as they passed over the Channel, slowly, weaving so as to allow the clients more time together. There had been no mistakes, no rows, and no raised voices…it was actually the most perfect flight GERTI had ever seen, and Martin would have been chewing on his hat with envy had he known.

It was when Deborah was adjusting their height and Carolyn was sat in the jump-seat doing a cross-word while Flora clapped her hands in time with the faulty alarm that Arthur bumbled into the flight-deck. One glance over her shoulder showed Deborah the pinched, confused expression on his face as he pushed his hands deep into his pockets; uncertainty had never been a rare thing for him.

“Hi, guys, um, the schedule says I’m supposed to be serving them champagne now, but I don’t think they’ll notice if I go in.” Arthur explained himself as Carolyn looked up at him, pen poised expectantly; there was a not so subtle implication laced in his tone as he blinked helplessly between them, desperate to do his job but not quite prepared to, “What should I do?”

“Wait in the Galley until they ring for you.” Carolyn instructed him matter-of-factly, turning back to her cross-word without another thought; she was loving being able to lounge around without the guilt, and had made a point of saying so, “There won’t be any customer satisfaction if you disturb them now.”

“Righto.” Arthur nodded and rocked on his heels, painting a picture of redundancy; even so, he did his best to hum cheerfully and seem as if he were doing something useful instead of just avoiding their passengers, “I’ll just go and arrange things in the Galley then.”

As the door clanged shut behind him, Deborah saw her chance to get a shred of peace; it was nice that Carolyn was there to oversee things, that much she could admit to herself…but it wasn’t half dull when she couldn’t risk being heard baby-talking to Flora without being mocked for it.

“Carolyn, I’ve already been through the Galley and made sure that everything’s arranged.” Deborah remarked, taking care to inject just the right amount of suspicious concern as she distracted herself with the switches above her head; it wasn’t as if Carolyn would know the difference between real flying and fiddling, not when she threw in an imploring glance and a purse of her lips, “Please go and stop your son from undoing all of my good work.”

“Fine, but just this once.” Carolyn sighed, raising herself from the jump-seat until she formed a weary mass on her feet, dropping her cross-word to tug at the lapels of her jacket; she fixed Deborah with a stern glare without the benefit of a sharp tone to back it up, “I won’t be here to help you after today.”

“I’ll rein him in.” Deborah promised solemnly, sparing a fleeting glance towards where Flora was still entertaining herself; it couldn’t be too difficult if she let the two of them keep each other occupied while she flew that plane. At least she hoped so…it would be so embarrassing if she couldn’t even manage her own airline.

“You are a lot of things Deborah, but you’re not a miracle worker.” Carolyn retorted, just a tad too near to fond to be truly ignored, not that both of them didn’t try; she barely spared a backwards glance before she was through the door and after Arthur, dismissing herself with a quick, “I won’t be long.”

The door had barely clicked shut before the air was filled with a shrill beeping, ringing out from the sat-com. Rolling her eyes and steeling herself, drowning out Flora’s distracted babbling, Deborah reached out to answer it, inwardly cursing whoever had decided it would be wise to interrupt her when she was so obviously busy and worked off of her feet.

“Hello, MJN.” Deborah announced once she had flicked the switch and the familiar crackle filled the flight-deck, causing Flora to fall silent at her side, eyes blowing wide as her hands stilled and clenched in her curls, “Dare I ask who this is?”

“ _Deborah, it’s me.”_ The last voice that she expected to hear filtered through the speakers, making Flora squeal excitedly and her head turn this way and that as she searched for her father; he sounded harried and furtive, but thrilled nonetheless, _“It’s Martin!”_

“Hello darling.” Deborah replied, trying not to sound as surprised as she felt; even though he couldn’t see her, she made a point of sitting back and folding one leg over the other, in a facsimile of cool contentedness, “Not to put a dampener on your obviously fluffy mood, but I thought you were on a flight today.”

“ _I am, but I’m in Spain at the moment.”_ Martin explained, lowering his voice to almost a whisper; it was quiet enough that the clattering sides of an airport could just about be heard in the background, _“We landed twenty minutes ago, and I thought I’d call and see how things are going.”_

“Oh, I understand.” Deborah drawled, sagging under the weight of understanding as her mood drooped imperceptibly at the lack of faith that she was picking up in his tone; he had been so pleased for her before, but apparently that had faded, “You’re checking up on me, aren’t you?”

“ _O-of course I’m not checking up on you…dear.”_ Martin very obviously lied, trailing off; she could imagine him biting his lip and rubbing his hand over the back of his neck to draw her attention away from him, _“N-no, I just wanted t-to say hello, and um…and see how you are.”_

“I’m fine Martin.” Deborah assured him, rolling her eyes and then rolling her head to meet Flora’s eyes to share a moment of despair with her; of course the baby just smile and cooed and grasped at her own hair, which left Deborah to adjust their speed as she remarked, “You didn’t think an old Sky God like me would be struggling on her own, did you?”

“ _I thought you might be feeling the pressure, what with an Arthur and a baby to look after while also flying a plane.”_ Martin insisted, quite fairly actually; not that she would ever tell him that, _“So, a-are you coping?”_

“Yes, I’m coping and Flora’s behaving beautifully.” Deborah answered wryly, letting her free hand fall to lay across the arm of the Captain’s seat, where Flora proceeded to clasp it and pull; lack of faith aside, she _did_ miss having _him_ there, “Being an infant, she would of course have trouble telling you herself, however, I can inform you that Flora is gargling and smiling and misses her Daddy very much.”

“ _Good – I mean, thank you – good.”_ Martin stammered; once he got his voice under control he asked, _“When do you think you’ll be home this afternoon?”_

“Why?” Deborah demanded, smirking as she settled back in her seat and enjoyed the solitary moment of teasing that she could grasp; it was ever so lonely in the air, and Martin always managed to surprise her, “What are you planning?”

“ _Nothing!”_ Martin blurted, loud enough to make Flora jump; it was a barefaced lie, but he didn’t sound quite furtive enough to be a bother, or to reward too much suspicion, “ _I’m not planning anything!”_

“Oh dear lord.” Deborah sighed, grimacing at the prospect of whatever he had lined up; it wasn’t worth pushing though, so she simply leaned forwards and pressed her thumb down over the sat-com, speaking hastily, dismissing him completely, “Alright darling, I’ll leave you to it; we’re landing soon.”

With that she turned the sat-com off before Martin could reply and sagged back with a groan. As touched as she was, Deborah could have gone the whole flight without being reminded that she was alone and overwhelmed. There was no time to think about that though, as the intercom bell dinged, and the door burst open.

oOoOoOo

Whilst waiting for their clients to finish their romantic tour of Paris, Carolyn had decided that it would be best for them all to leave GERTI and stretch their legs, and Flora’s irritable grumbling had convinced Deborah that it was a good idea. The last thing they needed was an excitable Arthur and a whinging baby locked in a tin tube for hours on end.

As they sat in the cheapest café that the airport had to offer, Deborah let Arthur bounce Flora on his knee so that she could sit beside Carolyn and sip coffee, drowning the welling at the pit of her stomach that had decided to mar their day. It was all the more poignant now that Martin wasn’t there…and she couldn’t help but wish she were at home instead…yet she knew that she would go mad without something to fill her days.

“Can I take her up the Eiffel Tower?” Arthur asked, breaking Deborah from her reverie; he was holding a pouting Flora at arm’s length, grinning across the greasy café table at her with his usual cheer. Being exiled to the Galley hadn’t done a thing to dampen his spirits, and there was no doubt that he would be absolutely fine on their future flights…if Carolyn conceded to let him go it without assistance.

“No, Arthur, you can’t take my daughter up the Eiffel Tower.” Deborah replied drolly, her patience wearing thin; she was on her feet before she was fully aware of it, carefully taking Flora from him and tucking her against her hip as she lowered herself back to her seat, “Even if we had the time, I wouldn’t let you take her up _any_ tower.”

“Why not?” Arthur pouted, folding his arms as he slouched back, watching her every more; it wasn’t exactly new for him not to understand what was going on, and Deborah couldn’t find it in herself to care to explain for him, “I bet she’d love it.”

“Because dear-heart, Deborah and Martin want to be the ones that provide Flora with all of her ‘firsts’.” Carolyn interjected, surprisingly gently as she placed her tea down atop the table and met her son’s gaze; she met Deborah’s eye for a moment before carrying on, scoffing at the idea, “How would you have felt if I’d let your aunt take you sightseeing without me?”

“You wouldn’t have done that though, because you don’t like my aunt.” Arthur replied smartly, as if he had made a clever point, waggling his finger in the air with his own sense of authority on the matter, “Deborah and Martin love me.”

“You still can’t take her up the Eiffel Tower.” Deborah added wearily, as she adjusted the fussing mass in her arms; when she saw Arthur’s expression fall, a pang of unnecessary guilt merged with her exhaustion, and she forced herself to offer a hand of peace, “If you want though, you can babysit when Martin and I go out for dinner on our anniversary.”

Arthur, of course, was thrilled with the idea…all they had to do now was survive the flight home without Deborah giving up completely. Martin was the determined one…she was run off of her feet…but if she could survive to the end of the day…she could survive anything.

oOoOoOo

Somehow Deborah survived…somehow she got back to the porta-cabin and dismissed Carolyn and Arthur…and she didn’t pack it all in. The thought had occurred, but she decided not to give up…MJN could keep going, they could manage…it would be exhausting, but it was worth the massive tips that Fleur and Tatiana had given each of them _individually_. They could do it…just about.

When they got home Martin was already there waiting for them, and it must have been obvious how tired she was because he swept up and took Flora from her before ushering Deborah in with a kiss and stern instruction that she go have a shower and put on something comfortable so that he could take her to dinner. No effort required on her part at all.

For once Deborah hadn’t had the energy to argue; on any other day she might have railed against following orders, but after a day in charge it was the easiest thing in the world.

She took her time in the shower and relished the peace and quiet as she slipped into a nice dress; it was only a night out with her husband and daughter, but Deborah decided that she deserved to at least pretend that she wasn’t exhausted and eager to race to bed. It was only as she wandered down the stairs to ask Martin to zip her up that she heard Martin murmuring in the sitting room. Softening her step, Deborah lowered herself down to sit on the steps where she couldn’t be seen, and listened to him murmuring, a warmth blossoming in her chest with every word.

“Okay Flora, you’ve got to be really quiet – h-hushhh, there we go.” Martin could be heard mumbling over Flora’s high-pitched gargles; Deborah could just about see his shadow skirting here and there as he scuttled around the room, “Mummy mustn’t suspect a thing.” With a smirk, Deborah couldn’t help but press her hand over her chest at the thought of him reigning their daughter into whatever ramshackle scheme he had devised, “Mummy’s going to be finished showering soon. She’s going to love this.” Martin tripped into view, only to disappear with his back to the hall before Deborah could do much more than lean back into the shadows, “Here Flora, can you hold this.” A loud crunch reverberated through the air, suggesting that Flora had hurled whatever she had been given to the floor, as was her habit, “J-just hold these for Daddy – hold them like this – that’s right, good girl.”

As a smile crept onto her lips, Deborah rose to her feet and withdrew to climb up the stairs again, only to return to their room. It wouldn’t do to let Martin know that she had been listening.

“Martin, darling, could you come in here a minute?” Deborah called out, only to hear the thundering of footsteps downstairs; she restrained a chuckle and waited for his steps to sound on the upper hall before adding, “I need help zipping up my dress.”

“You look lovely.” Martin remarked when he entered the room and rushed to stand behind her, hands smoothing over her shoulders and down to the bare expanse of her back; there was a yank at the back of her dress before his hands stilled and he tugged more gently at the zip, pushing her hair of the way to murmur raggedly as he caught his breath, “I should take you out to dinner more often – n-now that we’ve got the money that is.”

“It _is_ nice of you to take me out to dinner so suddenly.” Deborah purred, adding just a touch of a hint; depending on how skittish he behaved would reveal just how big of a surprise she had to expect, “When you called me earlier I began to suspect you were planning something… _more_ …more of a surprise…you _are_ after all, a _master_ of surprises.”

“N-no, there’s no surprise.” Martin assured her, completely unbelievably, but that didn’t seem to matter as he patted her back where the zip came to rest and then wrapped his hands over her eyes, “Come on, through here – c-close your eyes, there we go.” Deborah tried to protest, but gave up as Martin began guiding her out of their room and towards the stairs; there were a few moments in which he had to catch her before she tripped down them, but together they made it to the bottom, Martin muttering all the way there, “Alright, just walk through here aaannnnddd…open them!”

Blinking into the harsh light of the sitting room, Deborah took in the sight before her. It wasn’t a lot – she _did_ note the Christmas decorations, although she had asked him to do that when he found a moment – but it was rather a charming sight.

Somehow Martin had managed to get Flora into her highchair, which she had developed a particular distaste towards, and made her _stay_ there…with a bunch of flowers so large and elegant in her hands that it almost blocked out the view of her blushing and smiling face. The roses were dented and there were petals scattered on the floor around her, as well as in her mouth, but overall…it was charming.

“Oh, isn’t that nice.” Deborah drawled, crossing the room to take the flowers from Flora, surreptitiously removing the petals from her reach so that she couldn’t eat any more; she placed a kiss on her daughter’s head before turning, bunch clenched in her hands, to face her husband, “Martin, why did you buy me flowers?”

“Because I thought it might be nice to congratulate you for pulling off your own company’s first flight, a-and to celebrate.” Martin explained, taking them from her and dropping them over the back of the sofa; his lip was drawn between his teeth and he was blushing, but his expression was tentative, “That is, that is nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s nice.” Deborah hurriedly assured him, regretting her suspicion immediately as she closed the space between them, taking his hands; it had been a long time since they had quibbled over money, but she was sure that the wound was still raw, even after years together, “It’s wonderful, thank you darling. Come here Martin.”

Hardly a beat passed before Martin surged forwards and wrapped his arms around her, knocking the breath out of her; it must have looked funny, with Deborah curling her arms around his shoulders and pressing their cheeks together, because a high-pitched giggle bubbled up behind them.

“I haven’t just got flowers.” Martin noted, rocking on his heels as he pulled back, hands remaining at her waist; prim and proud, he grinned at his own ingenuity, “There’s the dinner, a-and then I thought we could come back here, and when we’ve put Flora to bed, w-we could stick on some music, have a dance…do other things…”

“It’s a lovely idea.” Deborah sighed, leaning into his hold, relinquishing what little control she had left after such a long, _long_ day…then she recalled that he had probably had a long day too, and took care to lean back and meet his eyes, “Thank you…I am genuinely touched, Martin.”

That would make him happy; a job well done.

“Yes, well, I’m proud of you is all.” Martin replied, shrugging his shoulders and flushing darker, sniffing in an attempt to maintain his composure; he smiled at her, then over her shoulder towards Flora, then back at her, voice softening as he gazed into her eyes, “You’ve done really well.”

Deborah could have disagreed, after all, she was nothing now compared to the elegant Sky God that she had been when they had met…but…back then she hadn’t had his approval…or Flora…or _him_ …and she most definitely would never have considered putting in the amount of work required to run MJN…yes…Martin was right, just this once.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

On the days when Martin was at work and MJN had no clients, Deborah didn’t find herself lost for things to do…in fact, with a hyperactive three year old under her watch, she often found herself wishing that Flora still took naps so that she could have a few hours of peace to read a book or watch something truly terrible on TV. Alas, her daughter needed entertaining. It was never boring though; they had reached the stage in her life in which Flora leafed through hobbies and obsessions like pages of a book, trying each one out until she found one that fit.

The problem there, or not so much problem as hitch, was that Flora…well, over the past three years it had become apparent that Flora had inherited her father’s wonderful talent for ineptitude.

She had learned to walk…eventually…after nearly cracking her head open on the corner of the coffee table more times than Deborah cared to remember. Her spatial awareness wasn’t quite so bad that they had taken her to the doctor’s to see if she had an inner ear problem…but there was no denying that Flora was a clumsy little girl.

She was making steady progress when it came to the English language, although that might have been buoyed by Deborah’s and Martin’s determination to read to her at every possible spare moment, so that she wouldn’t fall behind when she started nursery.

There was no doubt though that Flora had also inherited Martin’s determination, as she tried and tried again until she was mostly adept at whatever she decided to try…and when she was just about average, she dropped that and moved on to the next thing. At least, Deborah thought it was a Martin-ish determination…Martin seemed to think it was a streak of Richardson confidence, which made sense as Flora had never seemed even the slightest bit put out by her constant failures…then again, she was indomitably happy.

This week Flora was obsessed with painting. They had been going through their old things when Martin had pulled out some of the pictures that Verity had drawn for him when she had been little. Deborah hadn’t even known that he had kept them. Not that Flora cared where they were from; she heard her sister’s name and saw the artwork, and all she wanted to do was paint – on _everything_.

So on the morning that Martin went to work with one green stripe at his wrist and a pink splodge on his hat, Deborah took Flora out to buy various clay utensils: plates, cups, vases, jewellery boxes…anything to stop her from practicing her frankly uncoordinated ‘art’ on the furniture.

“Th-these colours Mummy.” Flora instructed as she rose up on her knees to lean over the kitchen table, jabbing at the paint pallet with her round brush, smearing paint over the newspaper that Deborah had laid out for her; as an added precaution, her ginger curls were tied back and her sleeves pushed to her elbows beneath one of Martin’s shirts that had ceased fitting one he was well-fed enough to fill it them out, “These colours…these ones.”

“Alright sweetheart, these colours.” Deborah acknowledged softly, nodding obediently as she moved the reds and pinks away from the blues and yellows that she was pointing at, so that she couldn’t drag her sleeve through it; she also made a point of moving the already painted plate away from the bare one under Flora’s palm, so as not to add to the splattered mess that she had made of them, “May I ask why we’re using these colours?”

“Yours are purpululle – purple.” Flora explained, jabbing at the plate she had already painted; her smile was bright but purposeful as she gestured towards the blues and the bare plate, flicking the brush until it splashed little droplets on Deborah’s wrist, “These colours…blue colours for Daddy, blue and –a-a-a-and lellow for Daddy’s plate.”

“Are you making one for each of us?” Deborah inquired, as she watched Flora set about her work without waiting to see that they were all on the same page; a swell of affection nestled in her chest at the idea. How she had managed to get such a thoughtful child was beyond her; Arthur’s influence no doubt.

Or perhaps she was simply reminiscent…there was a lot on her mind after all. A veritable good mood that no amount of monotony could wear down.

“Yeah…this one, i-i-it’s Daddy’s.” Flora answered, biting her lip as her attention centred solely on her task, swiping clumsily over the plate, painting it in a messy blue sludge; her mutter was almost unintelligible the more distracted she became, “That’s why i-it’s blue a-and lellow.”

“That’ll be a nice surprise, won’t it?” Deborah remarked, sitting back and folding her arms over her chest as she settled to observe, smile settling on her lips; then she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, eager to tell someone, even if it was only Flora, who wouldn’t understand what she was talking about, “I’ve got a nice surprise for Daddy as well.”

“What?” Flora squeaked, pausing in her efforts, looking up so fast that her hair bounced at the back of her head.

“I’m not going to tell you; you tell him everything.” Deborah drawled, smirking at the indignant pout she received in return; in one swift move she leant forwards and reached out her hands, taking Flora’s smaller ones in her as she lowered her tone to a conspiratorial one, “How about this? You and I come up with a good way to tell him the news.”

“What news?” Flora asked, eyes widening in wonder as she leaned forwards too, abandoning her paintbrush with a gasp.

“Oh, nice try sweetheart, nice try.” Deborah laughed, giving Flora’s hands a squeeze as she shook her head, lips curling at the corners; she eyed the disappointment on her little face and decided to play along, “If you wanted to surprise Daddy, how would you do it?”

“With a – with a jump, a-and a shout-a-and presents!” Flora exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air, managing to drag her sleeve through the wet smears on top of her plate, not that she paid it any notice; she was too busy rocking on her heels, “A-and a party!”

“Hmmm…I don’t think we’ll do a party, or _shouting_.” Deborah remarked, sniffing at the idea; perhaps it wasn’t the best plan to let a three year old plot their actions, not until she could use the vacuum cleaner at least, “I suppose that you could surprise him with your plate before I tell him my surprise, build up to it.”

“Yeah, a-all together.” Flora nodded, gasping with excitement as her mind no doubt filled with magical ideas; her stammer grew all the more pronounced as she spoke, voice growing more and more shrill, “L-let’s go outside, a-and go places.”

“A day out together, just the three of us?” Deborah noted, nodding and pursing her lips, eyebrows rising as she considered the idea; it wasn’t awful, in fact, it sounded good after weeks of Martin working nine to five days to make up for a temporary vacancy at Fast Jets UK, “That does sound lovely…a day out, and then a big surprise for Daddy.”

From the sitting room came the high-pitched warbling of the phone, ringing twice then stuttering, before ringing again; it hadn’t been working properly since Flora had tried to wash it in the sink. Deborah pushed back from the table after only half a second, rising to her feet.

“Pho-one!” Flora trilled as Deborah crossed the room, “Ring ring!”

“I know Flora.” Deborah called over her shoulder, glancing back to see her return to her painting; she held the receiver, but didn’t answer the call, holding it above her collarbone, “Remember, hush-hush when Mummy’s talking on the phone.” When she was sure that Flora was occupied again, she raised the phone to her ear, “Hello, MJN; Deborah Crieff, at your service.”

“ _Oh, Debbie, dear girl.”_ A familiar gruff, overly enunciated voice filtered down the line, making Deborah pause, one eye on the kitchen, as it carried on without break, _“Don’t tell me you married that chump.”_

“Yes I married him, ages ago -” Deborah retorted before she had time to think about it, caught by the familiar wave of irritation that came every few months when someone made a throwaway comment about her marriage; then she remembered herself and inhaled sharply, taking care to encourage the bewilderment in her tone, “Mr Birling?”

“ _Yes, of course it’s Mr Birling.”_ He barked, gruff and posh as he had ever been, even after years of radio silence on his behalf; it was almost as if he were in the room with her, as horrible a thought as that was, _“Who else were you expecting?”_

“Honestly, sir, _anyone_ else.” Deborah replied, rolling her eyes and pressing her free hand to her forehead to clear her mind as she sighed; dread was the only thing she could imagine, as well as the tempting scent of money on the air, “What can I do for you?”

“ _I’ll tell you what you can do for me.”_ Mr Birling answered waspishly, with the jaunty arrogance that she hadn’t missed at all, _“A return trip to Paris this weekend so that I can watch the Six Nations final in comfort.”_

“I realise that our marketing isn’t the best, but you _are_ aware that the nature of the company has changed?” Deborah inquired, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from being too caustic; there was a possibility in the works, a chance for a lot of money to fall into their pockets, so she had to twist it, make it seem like _she_ was doing _him_ a favour, “We don’t do straightforward flights anymore, we do days out.”

“ _I am well aware that you’re under new management or whatever it is you’ve done.”_ Mr Birling groaned, in the self-same exasperated way that he always had when there wasn’t enough alcohol in his system, _“You are under new management, aren’t you?”_

“Yes, Carolyn’s gone.” Deborah assured him quickly, checking that Flora was still dabbing at the ceramic plates and smearing paint over her hands instead of listening in; there was always the chance that she would repeat what she heard at the most inappropriate of times, “Well…mostly gone…you never know when she’s going to tag along.”

“ _Good, that’ll make things much more peaceful.”_ Mr Birling grunted, ploughing onwards before she could do more than open her mouth to speak, _“As I was saying, I’m aware the company has changed, which is why I haven’t hired you the past two years when I wanted to go further away.”_

“That was awfully considerate of you.” Deborah remarked wryly, relaxing enough that she could pace the few feet that the phone cord would allow; she was sure that he would book with them no matter what she said, otherwise he wouldn’t have deigned to call at all, “Dare I ask why you’re calling _now_?”

“ _Because it’s only a trip to Paris, hardly out of your way.”_ Mr Birling replied coarsely, clearing his throat as he continued, as if it pained him to admit that he had chosen them for a reason, _“And you know how I like things, you know which whiskey I want, and…you take far smaller tips than the other private airlines settle for.”_

“Well, yes, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be difficult to arrange things as you like them.” Deborah assured him without much thought; then her eyes fell back to Flora, oblivious to her mother’s annoyance, and she recalled the happy smile on her face as she had imagined spending the weekend together as a family, “There are some conditions though.”

“ _Conditions?”_ Mr Birling scoffed furiously, but it had little effect down the line of a phone, _“After the mess you made of my last trip with you?”_

“This isn’t me being difficult, Mr Birling, this is me speaking as the manager and CEO of MJN.” Deborah explained, honeying her tone just enough that it was soothing, encouraging, making it sound as if she would be on his side should the opportunity occur; that ought to get what she wanted, “There would be conditions to the flight, to _all_ of our flights, that you would have to put up with.”

“ _Such as?”_ Mr Birling begrudgingly replied; it sounded as if he were gritting his teeth, but he hadn’t hung up yet, which was a good sign. It probably helped that he still thought their trip to Sardinia had been all _Martin’s_ fault, but that was neither here nor there.

“Firstly, unless I can convince my husband to spend the weekend on a plane after spending all week on a plane, it’ll just be me and Arthur on board.” Deborah elaborated, turning the sentence around until the focus was off kilter, just how she needed it; she curled the phone cord around her finger as she paced back, turning on her heel again, “Secondly-”

“ _Your husband?”_ Mr Birling interrupted, to her chagrin; not as easily deceived as he often seemed then, _“What’s your husband got to do with anything?”_

“Oh, not a lot most days.” Deborah remarked nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders even though he couldn’t see her, holding on to her indignation on Martin’s behalf; she had to drive a hard deal, make it seem as if there was no other option whatsoever, “However, when he’s available I do like to install him as Captain, to make my life easier you understand.”

“ _Oh, yes…I’d almost forgotten you’d married that chump.”_ Mr Birling sighed; Deborah ignored him and made an effort to actually listen to the rest of what he was saying, _“Fine, fine, I don’t care if you fly with him or fly alone, so long as I arrive at the rugby suitably drunk.”_

“That can be ensured, sir.” Deborah promised in her most reassuring tone of voice as she turned back to the kitchen; this was where her chances of success faltered considerably, but there was no way that she was leaving that little girl with Carolyn and Herc when she had promised to spend the weekend with her, “Secondly, as well as Martin, we’ll be bringing our toddler with us.”

“ _Your toddler?”_ Mr Birling snapped; there hadn’t really been any possibility of him agreeing without a little persuasion, _“I don’t want to share a flight with a grubby child.”_

“You get a plane with our daughter on it or you don’t get a plane at all.” Deborah remarked sternly, winding her free arm around her waist to keep herself centred; it took all of her power to remind herself that it wasn’t personal, “That’s our policy for all of MJN’s customers, Mr Birling.”

“ _Well, fine, I suppose.”_ Mr Birling sighed after a moment of grumbling down the line, huffing into the receiver; he was a pushover really when he wanted something, that was for sure, _“It’s not as if she could cause as much damage as the three of you, anyway.”_

“Of course not, Mr Birling.” Deborah replied brightly, before he could change his mind; she quickly bent down and scribbled a note on the pad that Martin had taken to keeping beside the phone in case of emergencies, “I’ll have a bill drawn up for you on your arrival.”

“ _See that you do.”_ Mr Birling retorted, and just like that the line went dead and his voice was replaced by a low dial tone; why she had expected anything else Deborah had no idea.

Placing the phone back on its holster, Deborah rose back to her feet and took a deep breath. Well, that hadn’t been expected, but it seemed that once again she had bargained the better end of the stick; just like old times. Plastering on a smile that wasn’t entirely forced, Deborah strode back to the kitchen and took her seat opposite Flora…the girl was still painting, and barely spared her a single glance other than to beam in greeting then ignore her.

“Well, Flora, it looks like we’ll be spending the weekend in Paris.” Deborah announced, reaching across to stroke the back of Flora’s hand with the tip of her finger; they were abroad all the time, but that didn’t matter, “That’ll be nice, won’t it?”

oOoOoOo

Everything was running smoothly so far, but Deborah was well aware that that could change at the drop of a hat; in fact, with both Martin and Arthur on board, it was likely to do exactly that. Arthur was currently looking after Mr Birling, who was being as abrupt and demanding as ever, so that was one problem out of the way. Martin was getting the plane started and settling Flora, which was one less thing to think about…

Martin, who was in an odd mood. Up until that morning, Deborah had assumed that he was just tired and stressed with the extra hours for Fast Jets UK, but now she was beginning to suspect that she had been mistaken. Normally he would have been overjoyed at the prospect of spending the whole day on GERTI with his wife and daughter, but today he was grouchy and sharp, getting things done quickly, by the book, barely saying a word that didn’t contribute to the job.

It made the idea of giving him a nice surprise at the end of the day even more appealing…anything to put the smile back on his face and encourage some sort of affection. All Deborah had wanted was a cuddle and he’d grumbled something about being punctual, so she had left him to it…it was like being back with grumpy Captain Crieff of old all over again; she still loved him, but he also made her want to wring his neck and force him to have fun.

There was no time for Martin though, as Deborah crossed beneath GERTI’s wing until she found Carolyn, standing by the open hold, bottle of fine Talisker clutched in her hands as she grinned like a shark that had caught the scent of blood. It hadn’t taken much convincing, but this was sure to be painful. Brave face then…

“Ah, Carolyn, there you are.” Deborah drawled, folding her arms as she came to a stop in front of her, tucking herself into the shadows provided in case someone were to walk by; the last thing she wanted was Mr Birling seeing Carolyn and whinging about it for the entire flight, “Have you got it?”

“I’ve got it.” Carolyn replied smugly, giving the bottle a little shake so that the dark liquid sloshed around, clinking with tangible expense, “I’ve got it in large quantities, ready to hand over to Arthur who in turn could deliver it to Mr B.”

“Thank you very much.” Deborah acknowledged brightly, plastering on a smile as she steeled herself to step forwards and retrieve it; it would be hell admitting that she had needed help ordering the posh whiskey, or that she couldn’t do it herself in time, but that was a cross she would have to bear, “Can I have it?”

“Ah, you see, there’s the hitch.” Carolyn remarked slyly, stepping back and holding the whiskey out of reach, looking even more proud of herself than she had before; this was going to be painful, fuelled by her vindictive taste for revenge, that much was for sure, “That’ll be two hundred pounds per bottle.”

“ _Two hundred_ \- no, Carolyn.” Deborah stood her ground, winding her arms around her chest more tightly to keep herself buoyed; this wasn’t even up for debate – they couldn’t _afford_ to pay that, and she’d rather let Mr Birling go without than fork out for it, “I _need_ that.”

“And I needed it all those times that you deigned to steal it.” Carolyn retorted, eyebrows arched wryly as her smirk failed to fade; the woman was definitely enjoying it, oblivious to Deborah’s desperation, “Now the ball’s in my court. Two hundred pounds a bottle or you don’t get a drop.”

“I can’t afford to pay you two hundred pounds a bottle.” Deborah argued, keeping her temper in check as she schooled her expression; it wouldn’t do to seem desperate, not in front of Carolyn…unless…unless it gained her the upper hand. The thought was enough to spark the familiar spur in her chest, and she sized herself up, preparing to descend into the dreary zone required.

“Why ever not?” Carolyn scoffed, wrinkles pinching in amused confusion; likely she thought that she had pockets full of cash ready to spare.

“Because if I give you two hundred pounds per bottle, I won’t have enough money left to buy Flora the new shoes she needs because hers have holes in.” Deborah explained, making a point of labouring her breathing, widening her eyes, lacing something pitiful into her tone, “I won’t have enough left to ensure the three of us are fed over the next few weeks, or to take her out to buy those new books she wants to try and read, or to-”

“Fine, fine…less of the guilt trip, please.” Carolyn sighed, rolling her eyes and rubbing her free hand over her forehead; she lowered her gaze to the bottle in her hand and gaze it one last shake before groaning and speaking through gritted teeth, “Fifty pounds per bottle, and that’s my final offer.”

“Forty-five.” Deborah countered, perhaps a mite too quickly; she bit her tongue as she watched Carolyn’s expression shift from pity to exasperation.

“Deal.” Carolyn sighed, letting her eyes fall closed as if she couldn’t stand to see herself offer up the bottle of Talisker, to watch it hang in the air between them; aging had definitely softened her.

“Thank you – I’ll pay you later.” Deborah replied smartly as she snatched the Talisker, before Carolyn could change her mind; praying that she didn’t look too much like Martin, she tucked it against her side and turned to stare back out across the airfield, “Now, clear off before Mr Birling sees you and decides not to pay us after all.”

“Oh that’s charming that is.” Carolyn muttered, huffing through her nose and shaking her head; nevertheless, she stepped away from the hold and into the light, and slipped her hands in her pockets, “Never mind though; I have an opera to attend – one of Herc’s favourites apparently, not that I have a clue what it is.”

“That’s the way to do it.” Deborah exclaimed, hurrying up behind her and wafting her away as best she could; one problem down and easily solved, now to move on to the next one, “Now, off with you.”

oOoOoOo

“Alright you three, listen up.” Deborah practically clicked her heels together as she brought her hands to a close at her front and stood in the centre of the flight-deck, surveying Martin in the Captain’s seat, Flora in the jump-seat, and Arthur leaning against the locker; everyone in place and ready to go, like clockwork, “This is the plan – a very simple plan might I add-”

“Shouldn’t I be doing this?” Martin interrupted, turning to watch her over the back of his seat, hat tipped back so that his entire prim expression was on display, having failed to brighten over the course of the morning; like clockwork, it really was, “I am the Captain after all.”

“Martin you may be wearing the Captain’s hat, but I am the CEO.” Deborah remarked dryly, shooting him a gentle smirk in the hopes that some light teasing would lift his mood; the petulant pinching of his features suggested the contrary, so she rolled her eyes and sighed, “Alright- go on then, what’s the plan, Captain?”

“I um…” Martin trailed off as Flora perked up to listen, and his hands curled around the back of his seat as his eyes darted back to his wife in despair; all swagger and no fight today then, wonderful, “Deborah, what’s the plan?”

“The plan is that for once, everything is going to go to plan.” Deborah announced, pursing her lips as she caught Martin’s sideways glance, as if he were trying to swallow some undeserved bitterness; she ignored him and plastered on a charming, confident smile as she pointed to her daughter, “Flora, you are going to be on your best behaviour. If I let you unstrap yourself, you have to be very good and not annoy Mr Birling.”

“Yes Mummy.” Flora agreed, nodding serenely in her sweet high-pitched trill, clasping her hands together; unlike her father, she had been thrilled at the prospect of the day, even slipping on her smartest dress, “I’ll be good.”

“Good.” Deborah replied, then turned her attentions to Arthur, who was listening just as intently, “Arthur, you are going to wait on Mr Birling hand and foot whilst _also_ not annoying him.”

“Can do, Deborah.” Arthur assured her, straightening up and slipping his hands into his pockets and grinning with his usual anticipation for a flight; he rocked on his heels but otherwise stayed where he was, “I’ll do the announcements, and then wait until he dings his bell to serve him the Talisker.”

“Excellent.” Deborah remarked as she span around to face Martin; she had about enough time to open her mouth before Arthur’s voice filled the flight-deck again, cutting her off.

“This is brilliant, isn’t it?” Arthur mused, as he gazed into the distance like he was revisiting a dream, “It’s just like old times, when the three of us took Mr Birling wherever he wanted to go – almost as if nothing’s changed. Although, it has changed a bit, because Flora’s here, and I live with Sandra now, and Martin’s only here for today.”

“Yes, Arthur, it is brilliant.” Martin retorted bitterly, and it was definitely bitter this time as he swivelled back to face the control panel, pushing his hat down on his head; he tapped the altimeters without any need to, continuing in time with the clink, “I mean, I wish I wasn’t having to fly a horrible man to Paris, a-and that my daughter didn’t have to see us waiting here like lapdogs for a tip, but yes, other than that, it’s brilliant.”

“Oh, Martin, cheer up.” Deborah sighed, resisting the temptation to press the heels of her hands to her eyes; there was no point getting irritable just because he was, not when they were supposed to be building up to something good, “Think of it as a nice day out with the family.”

“Yes, sorry…it’s fine, I just really hoped we wouldn’t have to see him again.” Martin conceded, although he only spared them a brief look, focusing instead on grouching at the arm of his seat; with a shrug of his shoulders he put on his cheeriest, falsest voice, “Never mind, though, hey? A nice day out – s-so long as nothing goes wrong.”

“Nothing’s going to go wrong, Skip, I promise.” Arthur stated with just enough confidence that even Deborah wondered whether he might actually pull it off, “I’ve got complete control of everything.”

“Right, everyone strap up, ready for take-off.” Deborah instructed, clapping her hands together abruptly and raising her voice above the hum of the controls; with one last smile and a hand on Flora’s curls, she slipped through the gap between the seats and turned to give her one final nod to ensure that her seatbelt was still fastened, “Flora, would you like to start the pre-take-off checks?”

Flora nodded vehemently just as Arthur slipped through the door, and she opened her mouth to play along, as always…only to be cut off.

“Deborah!” Martin exclaimed, shooting her a frustrated, irritable glare, cheeks flushing as his eyebrows flew to his hairline; in the short burst, he missed the way his daughter’s expression flickered as he squawked, “She’s only three!”

“It’s not like the CAA are going to descend on us.” Deborah reasoned softly, brow furrowing as she stared back at him, hoping that her questioning expression would overshadow the pang of dejected indignation that welled in her throat; if he wasn’t careful, he’d upset her, and that was the complete opposite of why they were doing their flight together, “When you’re not here I let her talk to Karl.”

“That’s completely unprofessional.” Martin retorted prissily, scrunching up his nose and staring her down; it was just like being eight years in the past, but without the understanding that they could part at the end of the day, “What if…”

“Can I start now?” Flora raised her voice, interjecting only a moment before Deborah was about to; Martin’s head turned at the same time as Deborah’s, and they both saw her indignant but determined pout as she batted her big brown eyes at them, nose tipped into the air, carrying on without prompting, “Food-Pump-Switches!”

“Captain…” Deborah remarked, quirking her eyebrows at him, praying that he would play along, for the sake of peace if nothing else; she wasn’t entirely sure that Flora would like the prim fool that her father had been at one point in his life, never having seen him in a really terrible mood, “Fuel pump switches?”

There was a moment in which Martin looked like he might argue…but then his shoulders sagged and he gave in.

“On.” He answered, without any of the vigour that he usually brought to their rare jobs together.

oOoOoOo

With Flora stretching her legs in the Galley and Arthur taking care of Mr Birling, the flight-deck was almost peaceful; or it would have been peaceful had there not been an uncomfortable, mostly unexplained silence stretching between them. Mercifully though, they were disturbed before Deborah could try to intervene.

“Chaps, I don’t mean to worry you, but I’ve got a bit of a problem.” Arthur popped his head through the flight-deck door, gripping the edge of it as he did so; that was the last thing they needed, and Deborah’s dread only grew more intense as she turned to see that his face was wide and tensed, as it always was when he thought that he had done something wrong, “It’s only a problem now, but it might be an emergency later.”

“Why?” Martin demanded, keeping one hand on the nearest set of controls as his head snapped around, voice rising with a slither of neurotic panic; he fixed Arthur with his hardest, red faced glare, “What’s happened?”

“I’ve lost the Talisker.” Arthur answered shortly, tearing his gaze away from Martin’s to stare at his own hands.

“What – h-how?” Martin stammered, mouth flapping open once, then twice in shock; then he turned to glare at Deborah without any sign of a second thought, jaw set in annoyance, chest heaving, “Deborah!”

“Why are you looking at me?” Deborah exclaimed, forgetting her forced cool as she pressed indignantly back against her seat so that she could face confront him properly, hand pressed over her chest; there was a big difference between being a grouch and immediately assuming everything was her fault, “I’ve been here the whole time – you’ve been sitting _next_ to me!”

“Then where could it have gone?” Martin demanded, eyebrows knitting as his eyes darted across her face, searching for what she had no idea; with his hands clenching the controls and his seat where they lay, his shoulders tensed, he might have been considering stripping her down and doing a pat down to see if she had a bottle of whiskey hidden in the hem of her skirt.

“I don’t know where it could have gone.” Deborah replied curtly, doing her best not to purse her lips of snap at him; the intensity of his gaze was like an uncomfortable prickle on her skin, and she realised that it had been years since he had exuded such suspicion, “What’s important though is that you remain calm, that we do a quick search of the Galley, and find it before Mr Birling starts getting frustrated.”

“There’s also another slight problem.” Arthur interjected, somewhat weakly; he still hadn’t moved past the door, standing partially behind it as if he were holding it like a shield, protecting him from Martin’s wrath.

“What else could you possibly have lost, Arthur?” Deborah sighed, resisting the temptation to sag and close her eyes to block out the world; if they wanted the flight to go well, she needed to sort everything out before it descended into havoc, “Even you aren’t so much of a clot to have caused any more harm.”

“I might have mislaid Flora.” Arthur replied, trailing off at the end with a wince, as if he were expecting something to come flying towards him.

“What?!?” Martin squawked, flushing an even darker shade of scarlet as his voice went shrill; he almost rose out of his seat, gripping the back of it as he bared down on Arthur, somehow managing to radiate panicked anger from across the empty space, “Where is she?”

“What do you mean ‘mislaid’?” Deborah raised her voice over him, cutting through his anger with a sharp surge of professionalism; once the initial worry faded and made way for common sense, it was apparent that she needed to regain control of the situation, “There are only so many places a three year old can go in an enclosed aircraft, thousands of feet in the air.”

“I _know_ , that’s why I’m telling you.” Arthur insisted, letting go of the door to let his hands flop to the sides as he kept one eye on Martin, who was in turn fidgeting and eyeing Deborah with an odd edge to his gaze; nonetheless he seemed to realise which pilot he should be talking to, and addressed Deborah, “Because I looked for her and I can’t find her – not even in her usual hiding spots.”

“ _Usual_ hiding spots?” Martin exclaimed, before Deborah could reply; his disbelief was echoed in the wide-eyed judgement that his harsh tone concealed, as if he were actually criticising the way she ran her own company, looked after her own child, “Y-you mean you let her run wild around the plane when you’ve got _proper_ clients as well?”

“Martin, we do our jobs well enough when you’re not here, please do me the courtesy of not criticising my methods.” Deborah informed him, doing her best to reel in the tart edge to her own tone as she controlled her breathing, preventing herself from giving in to the temptation to rip into him; problems aside, this was supposed to be a good day out, “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal!” Martin argued, shrill and thoughtless as ever; then he added one last hand to push her over the edge and carried on, dissolving into one of his now rare, but still just as annoying rants, “Just _having_ her here goes against all regulations-”

“Martin, can you just shut up for a moment.” Deborah snapped, swallowing hard as she heard herself say it, and glancing sideways at him even as she turned to face the back of the flight-deck, turning her back on him; to her surprise, and faint guilt, his mouth clamped shut immediately, and she couldn’t tell whether he looked insulted or upset, but didn’t give it a second thought as she addressed Arthur, “Thank you…Arthur, did you notice that she was hiding before or after you noticed that the Talisker was missing?”

“It was afterwards.” Arthur answered, nodding to himself as he racked his brains, rubbing his hands together and shuffling on his feet, “I’m absolutely sure about that, because I was looking for her when Mr B rang his bell, and then I couldn’t find the whiskey, and now I can’t find either of them.”

“Alright…” Deborah sighed, letting her head drop to rest on one hand, then lifting it again to turn back to the Captain’s seat as she rose to her feet; it wasn’t an emergency, per say, but someone had to do something, and Martin was only going to make things worse with the mood he was in, “Martin, you have control. Arthur, go to the back of the plane; we’ll work towards the middle.”

“Wait, hold on-” Martin started to argue, reaching out to clasp Deborah’s wrist, but she shook him off and cut him down before he could stop her slipping out from between the seats.

“No, Martin, you have control.” Deborah retorted sternly, folding her arms over her chest ass he spared him one last shred of her attention; she wasn’t in the mood for his tantrums, not when she could feel herself aching to fight back, “I’m going to go smooth things over with Mr Birling, then I’m going to do a sweep of GERTI until I find where Flora’s run off to. You can sit here and fly the plane, and work on your bad mood.”

“I’m not in a bad mood.” Martin muttered, pressing his lips into a thin line. He made a point of turning back to the controls, making movements as if to press buttons and tap this and that, but he didn’t actually touch any of them.

“You’re in a horrible mood.” Deborah snapped, then inhaled sharply and turned her back on him; with a hand, perhaps to roughly, on his shoulder, she ushered Arthur back into the Galley, letting the door slam shut behind her, “Arthur…just go and start searching.”

oOoOoOo

After twenty minutes of crawling around on her hands and knees throughout the entire plane, and then ten minutes of Martin doing exactly the same to no avail, Deborah conceded that Flora would come out when she was ready and Mr Birling would just have to wait for his whiskey. Martin didn’t agree easily, but eventually he gave up and returned to fly the plane.

And now he wasn’t talking to her…absolutely bloody _fantastic_.

“Martin, stop fussing.” Deborah hissed the fourth time Martin flicked the dud switch to his right, making it click with restrained irritation; sure, it was bothersome having to sit and wait knowing that their client was getting frustrated, but that was life, and there was nothing to do but sit calmly until it sorted itself out, “She’ll get bored eventually and come out from wherever she’s hiding.”

“How can you be so sure?” Martin demanded, breaking his vow of silence to glare at her, his petulance rippling around his pinched expression, “How can you know that she isn’t going to stay hidden until we land, a-and Mr Birling isn’t going to be furious and leave without tipping us?”

“Because I’ve been flying with Flora for three years.” Deborah answered in as measured a tone as she could, digging her nails into the loose threads on the arm of her chair so that she didn’t give in to the temptation to dig them into his eyes just to shut him up, “I know what she’s like on GERTI.”

“And I don’t know what she’s like?” Martin retorted, sniffing indignantly; something about the way he said it made Deborah keep her mouth shut, watching him descend from his lofty pedestal to rub a hand over the back of his neck, growing more worked up the more clipped his tone grew, “Then again, maybe I don’t – a-after all, I don’t spend nearly as much time with her as you do because I’m always at work, so m-maybe you _do_ know better.”

“Martin, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” Deborah sighed, shaking her head and pursing her lips; it was difficult to be mad at him when the sharp ball of distemper was marred by a more pressing lump of worry that crept up her throat as she listened to him, the curse of being in love, “ _Martin_ …has something happened at work?”

“No.” Martin clammed up in less than a second, blinking down at the controls as if they held the answers to life itself. There was no way that he was telling the truth…which meant that Deborah couldn’t let it go. She just couldn’t; independent Martin may have been, but he hadn’t seemed to realise yet that being a husband and father meant _everything_ affected the _whole_ family…all she had to do was remember the mess of last December.

“Is that why you’re in a bad mood?” Deborah inquired, as gently as she dared when her tongue was itching to keep prodding at him.

“I’m not in a bad mood!” Martin almost shouted…almost; then in less than a second he sagged and looked to her, obviously stricken at losing his temper with her, with whatever expression Deborah was wearing to convince him that he had overstepped a line, “No, n-no, I’m sorry…Deborah, I’m sorry, I am – I shouldn’t be taking it out on you – not that there’s anything to take out on you…I-I-I just, I didn’t even mean that before. I spent plenty of time with Flora, a-and I need to go to work – I-I like work.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Deborah asked, reaching out to trace the backs of her fingers against the cuff of his sleeve, retracting it when he looked at her, “Martin, what’s put you in such a foul mood –and don’t tell me it’s just Mr Birling.”

“I’m not…I’m not in a foul mood.” Martin insisted, gritting his teeth as he threw his hands into the air and slumped even further; he was biting his lip, visibly on the edge of something, whether revealing all or telling her off, she wasn’t sure, “I’m not in any kind of mood.”

“Don’t be-” Deborah started, but at that moment the flight-deck door creaked open, the sound followed by the patter of little feet and the clinking slosh of something more illicit filled its place in the air; she turned just in time to see Flora skip, ginger curls bouncing around her shoulders, into the space between their seats, bottle of whiskey swinging precariously in her hands, “Oh, there you are sweetheart.”

“Flora!” Martin exclaimed, sitting up abruptly, sending his hat toppling into his lap with the movement; he abandoned the controls completely to confront her, caught between anger and relief at the sight of her, “Where have-”

“Look Daddy – l-look it’s so pretty.” Flora interrupted him, speaking lightly and sweetly as she shook the whiskey in his face, raising it up for him to see the liquid sloshing about inside the confines of the bottle; when Martin’s hand shot out she barely even flinched, just hugged it closer to peer through the glass with a content smile on her lips, “Issa…i-it’s a nice colour.”

“Flora, you shouldn’t have taken that.” Martin snapped, shaking Flora from her reverie with a little jump back into the arm of Deborah’s chair as she clung to the bottle; he had apparently chosen to fall back on anger, playing the indignant father card to make up for his failure to win the argument with his wife, “You shouldn’t take anything that Mummy’s set out in the Galley.”

“Martin, shush.” Deborah ordered him, lowering her voice to a whisper and ignoring him completely as she placed her hand on Flora’s shoulder and rotated her to look her in the eye; calming slightly at having her where she could see her, Deborah stroked her hand up from Flora’s shoulder to her cheek, brushing her hair away from her eyes, “Flora, sweetheart, go and give that back to Arthur please.”

“But i-it’s so nice.” Flora whined, pouting pitifully, lips trembling after Martin’s loss of temper as she curled her arms around the bottle; her sniffling was painful, especially considering where they were, “I wanna…wanna paint with it.”

“You can’t paint with it, dear, it’s whiskey.” Deborah explained for her, making a point of smiling gently and trying to sound reasonable; everything nice and calm, no reason to let it get out of hand, “That’s for grown-ups, not for you.”

“Mummy…” Flora sniffled, clinging to the bottle even tighter, glaring watery eyed down at her shoes as she scuffed them on the floor. It was her facsimile of misery, the one that she whipped out to try and get her own way. All Deborah had to do was keep on as she was, and…

“Flora, give it back to Arthur.” Martin shattered all of Deborah’s attempts at keeping the peace in one swift blow, fixing Flora with a stern glare the moment she span around; he glared down at her with all the authority that didn’t work on colleagues, but never failed to work on his toddler, “Then come back here and tell Mummy and Daddy why you were hiding.”

Without another word, just a high-pitched sniffle and a sob, Flora threw one arm over her face and scrambled from the flight-deck, swinging the bottle of Talisker behind her; her stomps could be heard ringing all the way down the plane.

“ _Martin_.” Deborah hissed, abandoning any efforts at reining in her anger as she lost sight of their daughter’s back and turned instead to confront him; taking his mood out on her was one matter, but now he was making life difficult for all of them, “I was handling her.”

“You can’t just let her get away with messing you around.” Martin sniped, as if he were actually concerned about her authority being flaunted, “She needs telling-”

“I will tell her off – _later_.” Deborah cut him off, shifting in her seat until she was sitting up properly, ready to take the controls should she need to, anything to distract herself; all prospects of a nice day were gone, “Not when there’s a chance of her throwing a tantrum thousands of miles in the air in a confined space!”

“Fine.” Martin conceded, but he was biting his lip so hard that Deborah was almost afraid that he might bite through it; with more force than was necessary, he reached out and held down the button for the intercom, biting out his request before waiting for confirmation that there was anyone there to hear it, “Arthur, have you got it?”

“ _Yeah, I’ve got it.”_ Arthur’s voice filtered through the speakers, disguising nothing regarding how he felt about the matter; if even he was tentative, then it as clear that tensions were rising, _“Mr Birling’s happy again, so everything’s alright.”_

“Good.” Martin acknowledged, nodding distractedly as he leaned back, and then returned to hold down the button, “Is Flora coming back?”

“ _No…she’s shut herself in the games cupboard.”_ Arthur replied, without elaborating any further or commenting as he might have done in any other situation, _“There’s no lock on it, so she can get back out though.”_

“Happy now, _darling_?” Deborah sniped as Martin release the intercom button and slouched back with a groan, pressing his hands over his eyes; she wasn’t going to take the blame for the mess that the day had become, not this time, “It’s going to be a pain trying to get her out of there.”

“It’s not like that’s the first time I’ve been mad at her.” Martin muttered, leaning down to pluck his hat from the floor and push it down over his hair; he didn’t look at her, just clung to his petulance, “She can’t go through life pretending that I won’t.”

“The last time you got mad at her she was eighteen months old and trying to play with fire.” Deborah retorted, pursing her lips and folding her arms over her chest as she faced forwards and stared out over the sky; she wasn’t in the mood for this, and definitely didn’t want to argue all the way to Paris and back, “This is nothing like that.”

“Can we drop it now?” Martin asked, tone vacillating between shrill and low, demanding and pleading, “I’ll apologise later.”

“You should apologise _now_.” Deborah instructed him, even though she knew that he was going to rail against it.

“I’m flying the plane.” Martin told her through gritted teeth; as if to prove his point, he gripped the nearest controls either side of him, making GERTI sway imperceptibly in the air, “You wanted me to fly the plane, so now I’m flying the plane.”

oOoOoOo

The mood on the flight-deck didn’t change when they reached Paris; or when the returned to Fitton. The half and hour spent coaxing Flora out of the games cupboard only made it worse; she was as stubborn as her father when pushed. The ride home in crippling silence made the tension paramount, and it didn’t wane for even a moment as they entered the house, Flora tucked up in Deborah’s arms, Martin storming on ahead through the sitting room and into the adjoining kitchen.

“And the table is still covered in bills that I asked you about this morning.” Martin muttered under his breath, although he made no effort to prevent Deborah from hearing it as he flocked his fingers over the envelopes and documents that were strewn in an almost orderly way over the kitchen table, “Did you sort them out like you said you would?”

“No, I didn’t have time.” Deborah replied caustically, shifting Flora against her shoulder as she followed him into the kitchen; the tugging at the collar of her coat was proof that she was still awake and listening, “Give me a minute and I’ll put them away.”

“No, I might as well do it myself.” Martin grumbled, going ahead and rearranging the letters with more force than was needed, jaw set and face pinched the entire time, flushed with residual irritation that he had been carrying around all day, “That’s one more job we need to do tomorrow, on top of everything else.”

“Martin, will you stop fussing for one moment.” Deborah snapped, losing her patience again, this time barely ten minutes after the last; her free hand was splayed in the air before she knew she had moved it, trembling in the place of her lips in an attempt to control the situation, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today, but you have been in a _foul_ mood-”

“I have _not_ been in a mood.” Martin huffed, dropping the letters back onto the table so hard that some of them slid onto the floor; his hands flew to press over his eyes and push through his hair as he bit down on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact.

“Then what do you call this?” Deborah demanded, unable to stop the surging heat that was tearing through her; it had been a long time since they had had a proper argument, and there was no stopping now, “Snapping at me? Snapping at _Flora_ – she’s three for Christ’s sake, she didn’t know any better!”

“I _know_!” Martin insisted, gritting his teeth so hard that she could have sworn she heard them grinding together as his hands curled into themselves; it was as if he were holding himself back, even as his mouth poured forth more and more nonsense, “I know, Deborah, and I apologised for that on the way-”

“You did not apologise.” Deborah shouted over him, reigning herself in at the last moment and carrying on in a low, measured tone that did nothing to hide the heaving or her chest or sooth the wriggling child pressed against her shoulder, “You didn’t even come close to an apology.”

“Debs-” Martin seemed to sag, to try and step forwards, losing all of his fight in one exhale; whether it was because she had finally got through to him and made him realise what a prat he was being, or if he just gave up, she didn’t care.

“We were meant to be having a nice day out together.” Deborah concluded, glaring at him from across the table; and just like that her anger was gone and replaced with dejection, amplified by Flora’s sniffles in her ear, but she couldn’t stop herself from muttering in the hopes that he would hear it and be ashamed of himself, “How I thought that was going to happen I don’t know.”

“Deborah…” Martin implored her again, voice soft as he stepped around the table to meet her.

“What Martin?” Deborah demanded, glaring up at him as he stood in front of her, holding her breath as the anger returned in full force with the added proximity. This close to him, she was caught between wanting to give in and wrap her arms around him, put everything right, make the day worth the mess and just forget about everything in the midst of the comfort that being in her husband’s arms would bring even if they were mad at each other…and the visceral desire to throttle him.

“Look, Deborah…” Martin sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, as if he were calming himself down; then he opened them again and extended his hands, and Deborah had enough foresight not to shake him off as he gently touched her arms in a faint embrace, then placed one hand on Flora’s back, “Just give her here and I’ll get her bathed and ready for bed. I’ll make it up to her.”

“You better.” Deborah retorted, standing her ground and lowering her voice even more as she realised that Flora had yet to make another sound; without another word she let Martin take her and stepped back to fold her arms over her chest.

“Come on, sweetie.” Martin murmured softly as he tucked Flora against him and she reluctantly wrapped her arms around his neck; he spared Deborah one last hopeful glance, but upon receiving no response, started bouncing their daughter as he headed from the kitchen and towards the stairs, “I’m sorry…”

The next time she saw Martin, Deborah was curled up on their bed, her back to the door, arms tucked up around her middle, contemplating all the ways that the day hadn’t gone to plan. She heard the door swish open and his feet as he padded across the room, followed by a weighty sigh as the mattress dipped. A moment later, she felt an arm slip around her waist, and when she didn’t protest, the rest of Martin’s warmth curl up against her back, confident in where it fit.

“She’s in bed.” Martin murmured, his breath a gentle breeze against her cheek as he hugged her a little closer, inhaling in what was almost a sniffle, “She kept talking about some surprise you had lined up…wouldn’t show me hers until you’d done yours.”

“It’s not important now.” Deborah replied, voice quiet and gravelly, more effort than it was probably worth now that there was nothing to spur her on any longer; one long breath out and she was relaxing into his hold, shifting her folded arms so that she could trace her fingers over the curve of his arm around her waist, “I’m not in the mood.”

“I am sorry…really, I-I am.” Martin apologised, pleaded, sounding as sapped of energy as she felt; there was a pause, and although she didn’t look Deborah imagined him biting his lip and pouting before he spoke again, making himself relinquish his pride, “You were right…I was in a bad mood…still am a bit.”

“What’s wrong?” Deborah asked, but received no answer; closing her eyes, she stiffened and gripped his arm just hard enough that he knew she meant business, without running the risk of hurting him, “Martin, you tell me what’s wrong before I leave you to wallow on your own…I’m not spending the next god-knows-how-long arguing with you because someone else has wound you up.”

“N-no, that would be silly…” Martin agreed with a bitter laugh the didn’t even outlive the breath it travelled on; another moment passed and he fidgeted against her, but then he spoke in something shy of a whisper, tentative like a slither of glass about to shatter, “I’ve got a new first officer.”

“Are they nice?” Deborah inquired, even though she knew the answer was no; what else could raise Martin’s hackles so badly but a toerag on his flight-deck.

“He’s a right – eugh!” Martin groaned, and it was like a dam breaking, making way for a torrent of miserable elaboration that made Deborah wish that she hadn’t been so quick to snap at him, even though she knew that she had been in the right, “Not in the way you were – I-I-I always liked you, even when I couldn’t stand you – that was…that was a personal thing. I just – he’s such a …I can’t stand him. He’s actually a smug, horrible person to be around, and he’s making my life a misery.”

“I don’t understand.” Deborah soothed, stroking her hand up and down his arm, brow furrowing as she tried to piece it together; it wasn’t as if she could do anything about it, as much as she would have liked to, but it was always nice knowing what was going on, even when the answers weren’t nice at all, “Is he not following orders?”

“No, he _is_ following orders.” Martin replied, frustrated, chest shuddering with the effort of feeling the way he did, arms jumping as if he wanted to gesticulate, “But he…it’s as if the way he speaks to me – i-it’s as if he thinks I’m _beneath_ him, a-as if in a few years he’ll have my job, o-or he’s too good to be at the airline in the first place. He’s just _rude_ a lot of the time-”

“Why don’t you ask to have him transferred to another plane?” Deborah asked, as she rolled onto her back in his arms, trapping him in place while getting a good look at his face; wide-eyed with red rings underneath them, cheeks flushed but somehow too pale…the verdict wasn’t good.

“I’ve tried!” Martin insisted, all of his features straining for attention as he blinked helplessly at her, “I said that he was impossible to work with, but there aren’t enough pilots to be shuffling us round like that…and he’s just awful, which when you pile that on top of the bloody monotony, the back and forth, everything the same, _every day_...” he broke off into a tone even more pitiful, and yet somehow more determined, hopeless, but absolutely confident in what he was saying, “Sometimes I wish I could just come back to MJN, work with you every day. We could have the three of us all together, we’d both be there so it wouldn’t matter how far we went.”

“You still could you know…” Deborah suggested, before she was even conscious of thinking such a thing, having hidden that thought far at the back of her head; it was out now though, and Martin was looking at her in the strangest way, as if she had just revealed all of her deepest hopes and dreams…maybe that was what it sounded like…maybe that was what it was, so she couldn’t drop it, “We’d lose your wages…but you could.”

“No I couldn’t.” Martin sighed after a moment, shifting so that he could lift a hand a trace it over Deborah’s cheek, brushing her hair away from her eyes with a tenderness in his own that didn’t suit the situation at all; almost sounded as if he were comforting _her_ now, “Flora’s going to be starting school soon…she can’t be leaving the country every other day.”

“It’ll get better.” Deborah promised, though who she was speaking to she didn’t know; she picked at the fluff on Martin’s shirt as he silently watched, when the lingering memory of what the whole day had been about trickled to the surface of her mind, “Would you like to know what my surprise was?” she waited for Martin to hum contentedly and peer down at her, nodding as his eyebrows piqued with interest, before taking a breath…“I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Martin blurted, mouth falling open as he leaned back as best he could on the bed; he gaped at her for a long while, watched as her smile grew more comfortable on her lips, then gasped, “Really? Y-y-you mean it actually worked this time?”

“So long as everything goes well, you could have another little girl – or a boy.” Deborah replied, grinning as the comfortable warmth she had been seeking all day settled in her chest, and Martin’s hand found its way to her stomach; they had been trying for so long now, had almost given up hope and accepted that Flora would be their last, but here it was.

“ _Deborah_ …that is perfect!” Martin beamed, cheeks flushing, face lighting up as if all of his troubles were insignificant; in one move he was on her, hugging her close and curling them together, pressing kisses to her neck, “Oh, god, I love you.”

Only then there was a frantic knocking at the door. As Deborah lay back on the sheets, laughing and feeling as if she were glowing under the weight of Martin’s legs on hers while he hastily sat up, leaving her spread out below, they both fell silent.

“I didn’t – didn’t get Daddy’s present.” Flora’s little voice filtered through the door, wide awake despite the hour, “Is...it’s here.”

Martin’s eyes moved from the door down to hers, and Deborah smirked, nodding for him to get off of her as she pulled herself up.

“Okay, Flora, come in.” Deborah called, running her hands down her shirt to smooth out any creases, as she couldn’t recall where Martin put his hands when he had all but collapsed onto her; a hand through her hair and she was ready, “I’ve already done mine.”

With that the door flew open and Flora darted into the room, large plate clutched in her hands; legs moving faster than should have been possible, she needed Martin to lean down and lift her from the floor before she could clamber onto the bed.

“Daddy!” Flora squealed, wriggling out of his grasp and into Deborah’s, flopping onto her mother’s lap without a word to announce her presence; she held out the plate, as if she hadn’t heard of any other surprise that she should be interested in, presenting it like a prize, “Look- look it’s blue and lellow – look.”

“Wow, that is lovely.” Martin admired the plate as he accepted it, turning it over in his hands and exchanging a fleeting glance with Deborah as he took in the dark splodges of uncoordinated art; his smile settled on his lips, carved into his face as if it belonged there, then curled into his wicked smile, as he placed the plate to the side and lurched forwards, leaning down to tickle Flora’s sides and press kisses all over her face, “Hey – hey Flora, guess what? Guess what Mummy told me?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

If there was one good thing to come out of pregnancy, apart from the baby of course, it was the way that everyone seemed to remember that Deborah _was_ in fact the most important person in their lives, and behave accordingly. Yes, she couldn’t work for six months, but today was proving that even the boring parts of life had their upsides. For instance, Martin was out getting milk for her tea, Arthur and Herc were upstairs helping Flora paint the baby’s nursery (the former guest room), and Carolyn was sitting with her feet up, chatting.

All in all, it was nice to be the centre of attention again.

“You can come back to MJN if you want to, Carolyn.” Deborah remarked casually, taking a sip of her coffee as she resettled her legs on the footrest and sank back into the sofa; she shot a glance at the woman in the armchair opposite and made a curling motion with her free hand, “I won’t pretend that it wouldn’t be nice knowing that someone’s got their eye on Arthur.”

“I’m not coming back to work.” Carolyn replied dryly, arching her eyebrows and repeating the same words that she whipped out at least once a month; she made a point of gesturing to her comfortable clothes, her relaxed posture, as if that might add truth to her statement, “I’m _retired.”_

“Of course you are.” Deborah retorted as she placed her cup down and rested her hands upon her abdomen, round and protruding as it now was; there was a lot to be said for running a company on one’s own, but even she had to admit that with Carolyn hanging around the airfield at odd times, it would be nice to have her back…a comforting presence to keep her company, if nothing else, “It’s just you seem so interested in what’s going on, I thought you might appreciate getting back on board.”

“I think you just miss me.” Carolyn scoffed, fixing her with one of those stares that came down the end of her nose, unimpeded by the ever increasing wrinkles under her eyes; an smug little smile curled one corner of her lips.

“I said nothing of the sort.” Deborah muttered, nevertheless dropping her gaze and sniffing indignantly; perhaps being pregnant was impairing her judgement, loosening her tongue, making it easier to control her expression…at least, she didn’t remember expressing any such emotions…she wasn’t sure. There had been at least two occasions in which Martin had had to clarify her instructions regarding household chores, none of which she remembered giving.

“Are you sure?” Carolyn teased, smirking all the more as Deborah pursed her lips in an attempt to ignore her; she raised a hand to her ear, cupping it as if listening to something imperceptible on the air, “I think I can hear it, blowing on the wind – ‘ _I miss you Carolyn’_.”

All that Deborah could hear were the frequent bursts of sound from upstairs, where Arthur and Herc’s ‘debates’ filtered through the floorboards.

“Then you have exceptionally good hearing, and a touch of the delusions.” Deborah murmured, shifting until she was settled even more deeply in the cushions, winding her arms as best she could around her middle; she wasn’t about to admit to anything, “If I missed you, I’d be _demanding_ that you come back. You know me; I never do anything by halves.”

Carolyn just scoffed and shook her head, but she didn’t deign to offer a reply. Mercifully, a distraction was provided as the front door clacked open, and was followed by the sound of two voices carried on a gust of wind. Deborah tried to turn and peer over the back of the sofa, but she couldn’t quite manage the motion in her state.

She could just about see Sandra shirking her coat. In the years that she had been dating Arthur, the young woman’s complexion had improved considerably, and there was a cheerful glow about her that she hadn’t had at first; Sandra was still plagued by the occasional bout of depression now and then, but overall…with various historical papers in the works and someone keeping her company, she had flourished, carrying an aura around with her that was as golden as her hair.

“Hello everyone!” Sandra called out as she entered the room, still in her waitressing uniform, open bag of books hooked over her elbow; Martin was a few steps behind her, thumbs hooked in his pockets as she dropped her bag and offered Carolyn a warm smile, taking the time to nod over her shoulder as she slipped onto the sofa beside Deborah, “Look who I found wandering the streets.”

“I wasn’t wandering the streets.” Martin grumbled, sheepishly dragging his bottom lip through his teeth as he perched on the arm of the sofa, resting his hand on Deborah’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze; his ginger hair was out of place and his cheeks red from wind exposure, so there was no doubt that he was lying, even if he hadn’t been fidgeting, “I was...um…I was looking for…”

“ _Martin_ …” Deborah sighed, grasping his wrist as he tried to guiltily withdraw it; with a bat of her eyelashes, which turned into a decided glare, she asked again, ignoring the wonderfully deceptive light in his eyes, “What were you looking for?”

“Nothing that I wasn’t supposed to be.” Martin assured her a little too quickly swallowing hard; he held her gaze for a moment, then gave in, groaning and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “I was just window shopping b-but I uh…I forgot to get the milk.”

“He had his foot through the door of that shop with all the baby clothes in the window.” Sandra interjected, scrunching her nose up at the furious glare that Martin shot her over Deborah’s head; trailing a hand through her blonde locks, she settled back and spoke more conspiratorial, “I had to drag him out by the collar.”

“I can imagine.” Deborah acknowledged, before turning her attention back to her husband, tipping her head back to address him, “I thought we agreed not to spend any more money until the baby was here.”

“I can’t help it!” Martin insisted throwing his hands into the air either side of him; he glanced towards Carolyn, but upon receiving no aid, he changed tactics and reached down to take Deborah’s hand and blink imploringly down at her, “We’re not poor anymore – I just want it to have as much as we can afford.”

“You should let him buy things now Deborah, then mock him later when he can’t put petrol in that van of his.” Carolyn chuckled, eyes flickering upwards as a grumble louder than the others sounded through the ceiling, followed by a clatter; shrugging it off, she carried on, tenting her hands over her knee, “Think of it as a learning exercise.”

“I think Martin’s learnt about as much as he’s ever going to learn.” Deborah drawled, quirking her eyebrows and doing her best to ignore a wave of nausea that hit and disappeared in the blink of an eye; it was making conversations like this all the more difficult, “If I try and shove anything else in there he’ll forget how to parallel park… _again_.”

“You should do what I do for Arthur and write lists.” Sandra suggested, with a thoughtful smile; her patience knew no bounds, “If you stick them to the fridge he’ll never forget anything again.”

“That was _one_ time.” Martin insisted petulantly, his cheeks flushing indignantly as his head turned from side to side, unsure of who he should be glaring at; when no decision was made, he glanced up at the ceiling and demanded, “Have they still not finished yet?”

“Not yet.” Deborah remarked wryly, following the line of his gaze to stare up at the ceiling, enjoying the release of pressure that the movement allowed her neck, “I’m hoping they’ll be done sometime next month.”

“Well you can’t do it.” Martin acknowledged as he turned back to gaze down at her; he caught the suggestive quirk of her eyebrows and his expression became stern once more, pinching far too easily into the stress lines that had appeared in the months that Deborah had been pregnant alone, “No – you _can’t_. You can’t be pregnant a-and surrounded by fumes. I forbid it.”

“Oh, you _forbid_ it do you?” Deborah drawled, caught by one of those irregular and erratic surged of heat in her chest as she ran her eyes over his face, then down his chest; it was absolutely ridiculous and irritating, and all she could do not to give in to the maddening cravings and feign nonchalance, winding her hands more tightly together over her stomach, “I’m quaking in my boots.”

It was clear that Martin wanted to say something, inflamed by Carolyn’s unabashed snort, but he was distracted by the thundering of little feet on the stairs. He swivelled around on the arm of the sofa to yell at his daughter not to run, but she was shouting over him before he had the chance.

“Mummy!” Flora yelled, coming to stand in the middle of the lounge, arms extended either side of her so that the paint, green and pink, which stretched up to both of her elbows, didn’t touch her sun-dress; her lips were set in a pout and her cheeks lightly flushed beneath her freckles as she pointed to the ceiling, “They’re fighting again.”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Deborah muttered, immediately surging forwards to hoist herself to her feet; over the ache in her back, she felt Martin’s arm hook under her elbow as he stood beside her, offering what little support her could, “At this rate I’m going to be painting that room myself.”

“Why are your arms different colours, Sweetheart?” Martin asked, doing his best to maintain a pleasant tone even as he narrowed his eyes at the glistening patches of colour that hid Flora’s skin completely; he didn’t move from Deborah’s side as she began making her way across the room, “I thought you were just watching.”

“I-I-I started early.” Flora explained, waiting until her parents were level with her before leading the way to the stairs, turning back every few steps to make sure they were still following, “Imma, I’m painting first.”

“When Herc and Arthur eventually finish painting the walls, she’s going to put handprints around the edges.” Deborah added in an undertone, inhaling deeply to counter the utter lack of breath she could catch as she moved; it was infuriating, absolutely the worst part of these nine months, apart from the swinging from up to down, and Martin’s insistence that he help with _everything_ , “It was Carolyn’s idea.”

“That’s awfully sentimental of you, Carolyn.” Martin remarked, shooting her a quick glance over his shoulder; he nearly walked into Deborah as she paused at the foot of the stairs, and slipped one hand around to rest at her back.

“I remember Arthur doing that to Gordon’s study when he was two.” Carolyn replied in lieu of an answer; the devilish smirk was tangible in her voice, carried even across the room as she reminisced, “Without permission of course…”

“Really?” Sandra laughed, the sound followed by the rustling of the sofa as she shifted on it; Deborah stopped listening closely enough to pay attention, turning her attention back to the stairs. She focused enough to see Flora scuttle away back to the lounge, inquiring loudly about Gordon and Arthur as a child…one less thing to worry about. Only the last week, Flora had almost knocked Deborah down the stairs trying to hurry past her.

Although she was half-tempted to bite out something caustic at Martin for his hovering, his hands under her arm and around her waist, Deborah was swallowed half way up the stairs by a wash of gratitude, then complete glowing affection for her husband. Then a wave of annoyance that her condition was making her so sentimental, followed by another wave of love…then all of a sudden she felt like herself again as the voices of Herc and Arthur reached their peak, forming words before she had even opened the door.

Deborah came to a halt in the doorway, leaning against the frame with Martin at her side, and she raised one finger to usher him into silence as she surveyed the scene. Quite a scene it was, with Herc standing on one side of the nursery, Arthur on the other, both wielding clean brushes; the floor was padded down with newspapers, which could hardly be seen for the thirty odd cans of multi-coloured paint that sat around them, like an ankle-height fortress barring access.

At a glance, nothing had been painted…save for a metre of wall in the corner of the room, about Flora’s height, smeared with green and paint splodges and handprints.

“We don’t even know what it is yet!” Herc enunciated loudly and clearly; _very_ loudly, waving his paintbrush with a wand, pointing it directly at Arthur and then at the cans by his feet, “It should be gender neutral!”

“I know!” Arthur exclaimed, throwing his arms out to the sides and rolling his head back in exasperation; as always he was sure of himself and unshakeable by doubt or interrogation, “That’s why we should do it half and half!”

“They’re not having twins!” Herc snapped, puffing up authoritatively and gripping his brush even tighter; he adopted his usual ‘reasonable’ tone of voice, the one he used when he was trying to push one of his social justice spiels, “We should paint it something calming, like green.”

“Or purple!” Arthur declared, raising his voice excitedly, eyes going wide in wonder as he the ideas flooded his mind; there was no doubt that he was enjoying his task more than Hercules, at any rate.

“What?” Herc spluttered, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes in confusion, “Why would we paint it purple?”

“It’s both!” Arthur explained as if it were obvious, gesturing to the cans either side of him, “Pink _and_ blue!”

“Well then, if that’s how we’re doing this, then-” Herc groaned sarcastically, then announced, raising his hands into the air, “Red!”

“Or yellow!” Arthur chirped, missing the point entirely.

“Cream!”

“Tangerine!”

“White!” Herc shouted, sagging in exasperated exhaustion; when he next spoke, it was through gritted teeth, trying to regain control of the situation, “Something gender neutral, without the weight of expectation.”

“Black!” Arthur yelled over him.

“You know, Martin, it really is incredible.” Deborah announced curtly, lifting her voice just enough that both men froze, heads turning comically back to the door where she was standing, arms folded as best she could around her chest, one hand poised so that she could inspect her nails while glancing up at her husband, “Truly remarkable actually.”

“What is, dear?” Martin replied, brow furrowing and nose scrunching as he looked across at her; then his expression opened with understanding, and he nodded hastily, tucking himself into Deborah’s side and smirking as he continued, “O-oh, do you mean that amazing progress that’s been made since this morning?”

“Yes, darling, that’s exactly what I mean.” Deborah drawled, nodding severely as she traced her eyes over the mostly bare walls, fixing both Herc and Arthur in turn with a pointed glare; pursing her lips, she sighed and remarked airily, “I am genuinely astounded by the amount of progress that’s been made…by a three year old.”

“Y-yes, of course, I-I agree.” Martin stammered out his sarcastic response, still nodding like a car ornament as she felt his chest heave with silent laughter; his ‘Captain’ façade was easily recognisable, even when she could only _feel_ him straightening up and tipping his chin back, “It’s amazing how our toddler has painted more of the room than the two grown up men that were _supposed_ to be doing it as a gift to us.”

“I’m _trying_ to get on with things, but Herc won’t let me.” Arthur bemoaned as Herc opened his mouth, then glared at him, his smug demeanour beautifully marred for once; Arthur pointed is brush at the wall of paint cans that littered the floor, “See; I even brought all this paint with me so that we could pick the best colours.”

“I was simply disagreeing with the decision to slap any old colour on the walls.” Herc retorted smartly, collecting himself in one swift movement, although the brush in his hand ruined the image completely, “This sort of thing requires thought and dedication-”

“Yes, we heard you.” Deborah remarked, nodding quaintly; then, even as she wanted to say something clever, tell them off, she was hit by a wave of exhaustion, and couldn’t do more than place her hand over her eyes and veer just left of begging, “Look…you’ve been here for hours, just please…shut the door and let us do it another day.”

“But we’re helping-” Arthur insisted, just short of a whine as he pointed again at the paint cans, then at the walls.

“You’re not helping.” Deborah interrupted, raising her hands into the air; she shifted away from the doorframe, only to lean into Martin, who shifted to support her weight and hook his arm around her waist, “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Really, it’s no hassle.” Herc argued, trying to take control of the situation, even leaning down to reach for a can of paint, never letting go of his brush; it was irritating , and his voice, no matter how smooth it was, began to grate on her, “We can just-”

“Thank you, really, but leave it now.” Martin cut in as Deborah sighed, clearing his throat so that he could talk over them, actually sounding like a captain for a moment; Deborah didn’t look at his face, but it must have been determined, as both Arthur and Herc sagged and nodded before he even finished speaking, “We’ll do it ourselves.”

oOoOoOo

“I can’t believe we’ve ended up doing this ourselves.” Martin muttered as he pushed the recently fastened wooden bars away from his lap and turned the screwdriver over in his hands; he glanced around them to where they had pushed Herc and Arthur’s debris against the walls, “What are we even going to do with all of this paint?”

It was late evening, the sky was dark, the lights over their heads were warm, and Deborah and Martin were sitting in the middle of the nursery constructing the cot that nobody had even bothered with during the day. The walls still hadn’t been painted. Nevertheless, it was nice to have everyone gone, for it to be just the two of them again, with Flora asleep in her room.

“Flora can use the excess.” Deborah replied softly, unable to muster much more energy; she wasn’t even really helping, just holding the toolbox and fiddling with the loose screws inside while Martin constructed the baby’s furniture ‘by the book’ and vacillated between reminiscing about the four of them flying on GERTI together, and complaining, “I’m sure there are oodles of things we could decorate.”

“We can afford all of this, can’t we?” Martin asked after a moment; he peered across at her, reaching out to pat the back of his fingers against her knee, features tilting sheepishly down, “I’m not just getting ahead of myself?”

“No, darling.” Deborah sighed, offering him a gentle smile as she fought the weight behind her eyes and relaxed into his touch; it wasn’t as if they could ever really change, not that she wanted to, “You _are_ getting ahead of yourself, but that’s fine.”

oOoOoOo

It may have been late in the afternoon, far later than had been planned, but Deborah was willing to let that slide once she was standing in the front hall, greeting her ex for the first time since she had gotten pregnant. So long as he was in a good mood, and transporting their daughter without argument, as he had been for a few years now, she was willing to excuse his lateness, as it had meant she had had the whole of midday to cook without a teenager hanging from her arm.

“Oh, hello.” Deborah remarked, feigning surprise as Chris marched up the driveway to meet her, opening his arms as if to embrace her, then changing his mind and tucking his hands in his pockets; she peered over his shoulder, but only saw the car door opening an inch, “I thought you were going to be here hours ago.”

“I would have been, but Madam was being slow getting out of the house.” Chris apologised, offering a helpless shrug before turning to shout over his shoulder, “Oi, Verity, don’t keep your mother waiting.”

“Go on in, Chris.” Deborah instructed, stepping aside and extending her arm into the house without really given him a second glance, “Martin’s in the kitchen.”

Once Chris was through the door, the car finally opened, making way for the sixteen year old to pour from within, bag hooked over her arm as she used the other to push back the dark hair that was already tied back and bunched atop her head. The moment she laid eyes on her mother, Verity beamed and strode towards her, with all the grace she was just about getting the hang of.

“Mum!” Verity exclaimed as she approached; just like her father, she opened her arms then stepped back, resting on her heels as she inspected the baby bump with a critical quirked brow and pursed lips, then remarked, “Wow…Your life is going to be so much easier when that thing’s out.”

“You clearly have no concept of what it means to be a parent.” Deborah replied drolly, unable to keep the warm smile from bubbling onto her lips as she took in the sight of her daughter; it seemed that every time she saw her now she looked a little more grown up, a little more like she could take on the world on her own, “But yes, I’ll be glad when I can hug you properly again.”

“This is fine for now.” Verity assured her as she leaned over and wrapped one arm around her mother’s shoulders before pulling back; then she stepped aside to stride indoors, dropping her bags in the corner as she froze and whirled about on her heels, throwing her hands into the air, “Oh, guess what! I got my results back!”

“How did you do?” Deborah inquired, her slow pace meaning that she was only just pulling the door shut behind her as she turned sluggishly to meet Verity’s gaze; Verity opened her mouth to speak, but Deborah hastily interjected, “Wait…you know I’ll be proud whatever your grades?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I did _really_ well.” Verity waved away her concern with a careless hand through the air as her lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk and her voice rose into a more excitable pitch, “Bs in Geography and French, but As in Maths and English and History, and…I got A Stars in all of my sciences!”

“Oh, well done sweetie.” Deborah congratulated her, letting her pride swell in her chest, forcing a lump to her throat that would have formed even if she hadn’t been emotionally compromised. She stepped forwards to pull Verity into a hug, but closed her arms around empty air as her daughter turned to wander further into the house.

“Thanks.” Verity replied, before raising her voice and calling out with a hand pressed to her cheek, a flare of the dramatic as she peered around the corner, “Flora, where are you?”

“Vetty!” Flora squealed as she barrelled out from the kitchen, arms held aloft as she scampered into Verity’s arms, knocking into her with such a force that she stumbled; she hopped so high on her heels that her curls bounced around her shoulders, falling out of place, “Lift me up!”

“Aw, wow…you’re heavier than you were last time.” Verity remarked as she lifted Flora into the air, holding her at arm’s length; she managed a few seconds before her face contorted and she let out a sharp breath, “I’m going to drop you now.”

“Hello Verity.” Martin called out from the kitchen, just as the three of them made it to the doorway; he turned away from where he and Chris had been deep in conversation, swallowing somewhat guiltily, but this was soon replaced by a warm smile as he extended his arm and ushered Verity closer, “Come here.”

With none of the ado that she had shown her mother, Verity strode forwards and pulled Martin into a tight hug, squeezing tightly around his chest as he patted her shoulder. When he pulled away there was a lag, in which Verity _didn’t_ , but a second later she was straightening her jumper and turning to Chris with a business-like efficiency.

“Dad, aren’t you leaving now?” Verity inquired curtly, but ever so politely, folding her arms over her chest; she glanced back at Deborah as if for back-up, but only received a brief shrug as Deborah tread across to the kitchen table and lowered herself down.

“Sorry, Love, I’m going to hang around a bit I’m afraid.” Chris replied, not sounding sorry at all as he pressed his lips together and shrugged his shoulders, hands still in his coat pockets; he caught Deborah’s eye and ducked his head slightly, as if cowed by the demand on her time, “Not for long, just a bit.”

“W-we were, um, we were talking about the nursery, a-and about how we haven’t decorated it yet.” Martin interjected hastily, stammering out an explanation that did nothing to hide the nervous winding of his hands or the blush in his cheeks as she drew his bottom lip through his teeth, “Chris reckons he can have it papered _and_ painted by the end of the day.”

“It’s no problem.” Chris added, so sure of himself, and as ever, incapable of lying without coming across as completely transparent; Deborah could only quirk an eyebrow at him as he insisted, “It’s been a while since we had some proper bloke time, and I’ve been surrounded by primary schoolers for weeks.”

“S-so we’re going to go and do that.” Martin concluded, nodding to reinforce his statement; he let himself down by rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and meeting Deborah’s gaze with his big blue eyes, “If that’s alright?”

“Of course…you go and …be blokes.” Deborah sighed, letting her shoulders sag as she swallowed the part of her that didn’t want her ex in the house any longer than he had to be; it wasn’t really fair to deny Martin some time away from her after the months he had spent devoted to looking after what was by far the worst pregnancy yet, “I’ll stay down here with the girls.”

“Great.” Chris announced, clapping his hands together and clearing his throat; he was already taking steps towards the front of the house before he had even finished speaking, “First though, we’ve got to get some tools…don’t we Martin?”

“Oh, yeah, proper tools.” Martin agreed, stumbling in his wake in his haste to catch up; his taut grin fooled nobody, “P-proper tools that Herc and Arthur didn’t have that we, should, um…we should really have, f-for painting.”

With that they were gone, leaving Deborah to sit without comment at the kitchen table as Verity held Flora’s hands to keep her balance as she perched on her sister’s feet, the two of them whispering amongst themselves. There was no doubt in Deborah’s mind that ‘tools’ meant beer, and that Martin was overjoyed at the idea of proper fun with another man; he still didn’t work overnight flights, so he didn’t get to join his fellow pilots’ outings. It was best to leave them to it.

“So have you decided which A Levels you’re taking yet?” Deborah asked when she emerged from her reverie; it hadn’t felt like long, but it must have been, as Verity was inexplicably sitting at the table with her laptop open, and Flora was tottering about with a toy plane that she hadn’t owned before. It was all Deborah could do not to flinch at the ever more frequent loss of concentration; she would be glad when the baby came and she could be herself again.

“It’s come to my attention that being a detective is a really awful career choice; especially the type I’m thinking of.” Verity replied smoothly, glancing up over the top of her laptop and smiling serenely; she didn’t sound particularly upset that her childhood dream was no longer a realistic option, and the clacking of her nails on the keyboard didn’t falter.

“Well, never mind.” Deborah drawled, trying not to sound too pleased, although her control over her expression was still fragile at best; it was hard not to be pleased when one’s child no longer wanted to deliberately endanger herself via choice of career, “You can find something else-”

“So I was thinking of doing sciences.” Verity continued, this time making no effort to meet her mother’s eyes, “That way I can become a forensic officer – like a detective, but actually employed by the police.”

“Marvellous.” Deborah replied, biting her tongue to stop from saying something else; dead bodies, criminals, drugs, probably worse…that was _not_ a step up…but Martin would be furious if she tried to crush her daughter’s dreams. He’d probably try and fund her education if she did that.

oOoOoOo

“I mean, I-I-I wish I could fly something like a Cherokee, or –or something like that, but I can’t.” Martin was stammering and slurring, paintbrush hanging precariously in his grasp as he leaned against the still damp wall and addressed Chris, “Still, the 747s are great though- really great.”

“Are they really?” Chris replied dryly, nodding along nonetheless as he took a swig from his can of beer. Just as promised, he had gotten wallpaper up and then helped Martin come to a decision regarding paint. He had even set Flora up in the corner with a roller this time so that she could help cover up any spots that they missed.

All in all, they seemed to be enjoying themselves enough that they only offered Deborah a fleeting glance as she came to lean against the doorframe, arms folded; she was content to watch and see what they were getting up to.

“Yeah, I-I-I mean, the handling’s not even that much of a change from GERTI.” Martin explained in his clipped tone of authority, proud of his own textbook knowledge as she slathered another layer of lilac paint onto the wall, gesticulating loosely with the other hand, “I-It’s different, of course, b-but the ride…it is a _smooth_ ride, a _brilliant_ feeling.”

“I bet it is.” Chris agreed, nodding as if he knew what he was talking about and running a hand through his thin beard; it was laughable really, seeing as he had never known a thing about planes, or given a damn, “Like driving a sports car.”

“But in the _air_.” Martin exclaimed, trailing off with wonder in his eyes as he swayed and turned to dip his brush in a can of paint; he scrunched his nose up at the scent, “I tell you, _everyone_ should learn to fly, it is the _best_.”

“But if everyone was flying, there’d be no room in the air.” Chris retorted smartly, tapping his nose as if he had spoken words of wisdom unheard before.

“No, you’re right.” Martin acknowledged, nodding sagely; then his eyes fell on Flora, and he retained enough clarity to reach out and tap her on the shoulder as he realised what a mess she was making, “Don’t eat that Sweetie.”

“I-I’m not.” Flora insisted, dropping the paint roller to the floor so that she could demonstrate just how much she had not been eating the paint; the purple paint which was rolled neatly across her cheeks, and probably _had_ gone in her mouth considering the way it covered her lips, “It’s just on, it’s on my face.”

“I take it you’re having fun then?” Deborah announced herself again, as she suspected that they had forgotten that she was there at all; she couldn’t help the pleasant hum in her chest as Flora and Martin glanced up at her with identical expressions of guilty surprise which shifted into smiles.

“We are having a great time.” Martin answered cheerfully, rising back up to jab clumsily at the wall with his paintbrush; he wavered for a moment, as if deciding whether to approach her, but settled instead on pointing again at the walls, “And _look_ – it’s almost all done.”

“I _see_.” Deborah drawled, nodding and pressing her lips together into a thin line; there was a chance that she wasn’t as impressed as he seemed to want her to be, “You’ve painted it purple.”

“It’s a girly-manly purple.” Chris explained, as if that were all the explanation that was needed, along with an odd arm movement that might have been a show of strength or of fancy; in the end, he was just as pleased with himself as Martin, and he didn’t even have the excuse of ineptitude to fall back on, “Your kid’s going to love this.”

oOoOoOo

There had been some bickering, but eventually Martin had had to give in and let Deborah come on the van job with him; he put up a fuss even though Icarus was something they were supposed to do together, a penny saving bonding exercise to make up for their lack of flight time together. Of course he had a point that being eight months pregnant was no help in lifting heavy objects, but Deborah was getting bored at home, and she was getting lonely during the hours that Flora was at preschool. It had only been a month since she had started, but Deborah was well and truly bored and lonely, and all because she was too knocked-up to do anything.

Unfortunately, Martin had called Arthur to help him.

“Alright, you two wait here while I go and talk to the clients.” Martin instructed, patting the steering wheel and opening the van door. He was gone before Deborah could argue, too quickly for her to reach out and grab his pocket to keep him there.

“Arthur, dare I ask why you’re spending this beautiful Sunday with me instead of with your girlfriend and goddaughter?” Deborah inquired before the door had even closed, slouching and turning to her left to look up at him where he was sitting with his arm pressed against hers in the cramped space. Arthur had been unusually subdued all day, and even now he had one arm propped up against the window and was staring out at the sky.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Arthur replied brightly, putting on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, even as it was clear that he was being honest as always; he settled back with his hands over his lap while he gazed indulgently, and wasn’t that a novelty, down at her, “As a good godfather, I can’t let you help Martin with lifting unless I’m there to help you helping him with lifting.”

“That’s nice of you.” Deborah muttered, then sighed and closed her eyes; there was no point. Nothing was going to get more entertaining, or make her useful again, until the baby arrived; sooner than later, she hoped.

“Deborah?” Arthur’s voice, oddly soft and tentative, had her opening her eyes and blinking up at his nervous, strangely dim expression; that was never a good sign, not in the least, so she nodded and hummed to let him know that she was listening, “Do you think I should get married? I mean, do you think I’d be good at it?”

“Why wouldn’t you be good at it?” Deborah asked in lieu of an answer, taking care not to linger too long on the bewilderment that flooded her brain, focusing instead on being the voice of reason that he needed; she would consider the gravity of such a request later, when Arthur didn’t look so much like a puppy begging for love, “The only things you could do wrong would be if you were abusive or negligent, neither of which you have the capacity to be.”

“Yeah, but…” Arthur swallowed hard and twiddled his fingers together, slumping down until he was level with her and could avoid eye contact by turning his brown ones down to stare at the air conditioning vent, “I’m a clot.”

“A loveable clot.” Deborah assured him, blinking hard when she was truly aware of the words leaving her mouth; she slipped one hand away from her abdomen to clutch his own, giving his fingers a squeeze, “Make the most of this Arthur…once I’m not pregnant, I’ll be lucid enough not to say things like that.”

“Do you think I should tell my Dad?” Arthur asked abruptly, ignoring her kind words; it seemed that this would be one of those moments in which he poured out his heart and expected the answers to life to be given him in return, his faith in her indomitable, “I don’t want him to come to the wedding – even though he’s my dad…but should I tell him?”

“You want my opinion?” Deborah inquired, doing her best to heave herself up, then giving up when she failed; instead she reached up and used her finger to tilt his chin down, all the better for looking him in the eye and sounding more in-charge than she felt, “I don’t think you should let that man into any part of your life from now on. He mistreats your mother, he mistreats _you_ …get rid of him.”

“He’s my Dad though.” Arthur insisted pitifully, adding to his misery with a loud sniffle.

“But you, Arthur, are no son of his.” Deborah muttered, dropping her hand and curling her arms around herself; they had had this discussion before, “You’re not going to be anything like he was.” She ran her eyes over the line of the road outside, and glanced towards the house where Martin was still chatting with the owner, then she looked back to Arthur, leaning slightly into his side, “You’re thinking of asking Sandra to marry you then?”

“Yeah. I really want to and I reckon it’ll be the same as now, except different.” Arthur explained, although he sounded unsure of himself; there was no doubt that he loved Sandra, but it had been _years_ , “So long as I do what I’m told, it’ll all work out fine.”

“You’re not best known for your instruction following abilities.” Deborah remarked wryly, nudging him in the ribs as a smirk crept onto her lips; she had no doubt that he was going to be fine, now that the concept began to settle in her mind, “You and Sandra make a good couple…as equals. I think you’ll be absolutely fine.”

“Okay.” Arthur nodded, inhaling deeply as if he had been holding in his uncertainty; his weight settle against Deborah’s side, and he leaned his head against the top of hers, “Like you and Martin?”

“Put it this way, Arthur.” Deborah assured him, letting her gaze wander back outside to where Martin was _still_ negotiating, “If Martin and I can survive being married then you’re going to find it a walk in the park.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you lovelies for reading
> 
> I feel like I should note now that sadly, this fic won't go on forever. I've got five more chapters planned out, but that's the end I'm afraid. Updates should be regular as they have been, so it should take about a month-ish.
> 
> For now, I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

It had been a _long_ day of hard work and stress, of everyone fussing around her as she struggled to perform the most menial of tasks due to her engorged abdomen and the uncomfortable _kicking_ that made her nauseous and dizzy, and Deborah was at the end of her tether. The sky outside was dark and the lights inside were dimmed and all she wanted to do was escape for a few hours and sort out the niggle at the back of her mind telling her she should be _doing something_ with MJN instead of sitting at home.

But Martin was having none of it. He wasn’t even letting her _near_ the coats, or her shoes, barricading her in the sitting room as he tried to corral her back towards the sofa. It was suffocating and irritating and Deborah just needed out for a bit…just out of the house for an hour or two.

“Martin, will you leave off please.” Deborah snapped, jerking her arms out of his grasp as she turned away from his hold, feet already aching from just ten minutes arguing; all she wanted to do was get through to the hall, but whichever way she turned Martin was there, already dressed for bed, hardly giving her a moment of peace, “Lord knows I’m pregnant, not inept; I don’t need barricading in the house.”

“E-exactly, you’re pregnant!” Martin insisted, flushing with exertion as he placed his hands on her shoulders, digging his fingers in just enough that he could hold her still and bring them back eye to eye, “You’re a week overdue and you need to stay in the house – you can’t be going up the airfield _working_ now of all days.”

“I just need to look over the accounts…the marketing for when I’m back at work.” Deborah assured him, biting the inside of her cheek and inhaling sharply to try and steady her already erratic breathing as she turned her head this way and that; this time she didn’t pull out of his grasp, but her mind was whirring too fast to really focus on him long enough to take in his appearance, “Something to clear my mind.”

“You _need_ to be in bed,” Martin retorted through gritted teeth, taking steps to push her back into the sitting room as gently as he could; he was never anything but careful nowadays, none of the _fun_ that they used to have coming into it, “o-or the sofa at least.”

“Read that in a book did you?” Deborah muttered, slipping sluggishly out of Martin’s grasp and marching past him into the hall, knocking him with her elbow; she ignored his indignant huff and made her way to where her coat was hanging, laying her hands on the material and pausing as another wave of exhaustion caught her, “The same baby manual you were using last time?”

“Yes, actually, but that’s not the point.” Martin informed her, his tone becoming more clipped as he followed her every step, pushing a hand through his hair until the ginger locks were thrown out of place; even though she wasn’t moving, he lurched forwards and slipped his hands around her elbows, stroking soothing circles into the crooks of her arms, “Look, Deborah, _please_ …please just sit down and stop worrying me. I know you’re in a bad mood, b-because the baby’s not here yet, but-”

“It’s taking its time.” Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall closed, taking some small comfort from the temporary darkness and Martin’s solid weight behind her. It wasn’t his fault, and she supposed he was talking sense, but she just…she just needed something to do, something other than sitting around and waiting for her life to continue.

“I know, but please, take it easy.” Martin begged, lowering his voice as he leaned in, curling his arms around her waist with even more difficulty than he had had the last time he had attempted it; he had taken the last week or so off work, but he still sounded tired and worn-out, tugging ever so slightly backwards as if to guide her away from the door.

“Alright…alright, I’ll behave.” Deborah promised, stepping back so quickly that her back collided with Martin’s chest, turning and raising her hands in a facsimile of surrender; blinking quickly and hoping that it looked like she were just batting her eyelashes, Deborah gazed into his blue eyes and felt her resolve soften and slip as a bout of emotion hit her, _again_ , “Can you…can you run me a bath please?”

“Of course I can.” Martin replied, treating her to one of his most charming smiles, bashful and proud all at the same time; he stepped away and released her from his embrace, stumbling backwards towards the stairs, “I’m going to go and run you a bath, then you’re going to stay in it, then go to sleep, and you’re _not_ going to try and do anything strenuous.”

Deborah could only wait as long as it took for Martin to climb the stairs and slam the bathroom door before she was moving again, striding awkwardly towards the sitting room. She couldn’t be idle, not for a moment.

“Flora! Flora, sweetheart!” Deborah called out, peering towards the sofa where she expected to see her pyjama clad daughter; as confusion began to set in, she heard a murmuring, and reached the back of the sofa just as her ankles started to ache, only to find Flora huddled in the cushions, phone pressed to her ear, “There you are…what are you doing?”

“Talking onna phone.” Flora replied sheepishly, brown eyes widening in shock at being caught, although she made no move to take the receiver away from her ear.

“What have we told you?” Deborah groaned, pushing herself away from the back of the sofa to trundle around to the front, falling down to sit beside Flora, making the cushions dip in the middle; she reached out and took the phone from her with perhaps a little more force than was necessary, holding it in the air, “Who are you talking to?”

“Uncle Archie.” Flora told her, biting her lip and threading her fingers through her hair, tugging it past her ears. With that she slipped from the sofa and flounced away into the kitchen.

“Archie!” Deborah hissed as she slammed the phone against her ear, glancing back towards the kitchen to make sure that Flora wasn’t listening; she knew she was in a bad mood, but she was _aching_ for someone to take her pent-up energy out on, “For future reference, if our toddler picks up the phone, do bid her farewell and call back later.”

“ _Hello to you to Debbie.”_ Archie’s gruff, familiar drawl filtered through the line; he sounded weary, as was apt given the time of night, but she was in no mood to be dealing with him, _“Flora was just telling me about how excited she was to go to school next September.”_

“That’s nice.” Deborah retorted tartly, slouching back into the sofa and sighing at the release of tension that she had been carrying around; the baby had stopped moving, so her mind cleared enough for her to continue as she slipped a hand over her abdomen, “What do you want me to do – don’t tell me that you don’t want something…you always do.”

“ _Only what’s best for you…god forbid.”_ Archie muttered, clearing his throat; there was no doubt that there was _something_ , after all he never called unless something was happening, _“No this is…Debbie, you’re at home right?”_

“Of course I’m at home.” Deborah snapped, hurriedly hushing herself as her eyes darted back towards the kitchen, from which she could just about hear Flora clattering about in the juice cupboard; it wouldn’t do to let her know that Mummy was frustrated, “The damn baby isn’t here yet so I’m stuck.”

“ _Sit down then.”_ Archie instructed, and just like that, Deborah was flooded with a prickling dread that washed through her like ice cold water, exacerbated by the pregnancy nausea; he only ever spoke like that when…well, the last time had been before she had started working for MJN, _“You’re not going to like this.”_

“What have you done?” Deborah demanded, closing her eyes and forcing herself to stop worrying; her brother was getting old, he was probably just in a hole and needed digging out…in fact, that would be wonderful, a wonderful distraction, “No, don’t tell me…you’ve finally overreached yourself and need me to bail out your modelling company.”

“ _Debbie, behave yourself.”_ Archie scolded her, without any of his usual vehemence; she heard him sigh and inhale raggedly from the other end of the line, and could hardly breathe as he carried on, _“It’s…Debbie, I’m sorry, I really am…it’s Granny…Granny passed away this morning.”_

“What?” Deborah blurted out, almost on a nervous laugh, if such a thing were possible; if it weren’t for the churning in her guts, she was sure that they world around her would have stiffened into a stark haze as she grasped for some sense of understanding…it was as if the thought were there, but it was jammed and refusing to slot into place, “What happened?”

“ _It wasn’t unexpected, I know- she was old and ill.”_ Archie explained, but his voice was barely a buzz in her ear that she clung to; all of a sudden she was the same pilot that she had been when he had reported their father’s death, alcoholic, out of control, and completely helpless…and he just kept speaking, _“There was no way of knowing-”_

“Archie, what happened?” Deborah demanded, forcing her voice under control, swallowing hard.

“ _She passed away in her sleep, in hospital.”_ Archie explained, almost reluctantly, _“Her carer drove her in after the emergency button was pushed…apparently she was having chest pains…I really am sorry.”_

“Sure, whatever…” Deborah sighed, nodding even though he couldn’t see her, unable to stop once she started; without consciously thinking about it she sat up and leaned forwards, hunching over with her arms on her knees, her stomach making it impossible to keep her free hand against her eyes, “Whatever you say. Goodbye Archie.”

Then she cut off the call and brought the phone down in front of her eyes. Her head was spinning, she felt sick, her eyes were prickling, and she had no idea what to do. Deborah stared at the phone and for a mad moment her fingers moved, typing out _Carolyn’s_ number, as if she could do _anything_ to help…then Deborah turned the phone off completely, crumbling in a moment of panic and dropped her head into her hands, letting the phone fall to the floor.

“Mummy.” Flora’s high-pitched squeal was tempered into a soft coo, but Deborah didn’t see her approach; she felt her tiny hands on her arm as she began to shudder, trying her hardest to keep control as the tiny hands tugged at her elbow, “Mummy…mummy…”

“Mummy’s fine Flora.” Deborah murmured into her hands, still refusing to look up; she could hear her own voice and was enraged, distraught, at how brittle and reedy it sounded, shattering into a thousand pieces, “Go to bed.”

“But Mummy.” Flora whined, wrapping her hands around Deborah’s elbow and squeezing so hard it was painful; her socks were even scuffing audibly against the carpet.

“Go to bed.” Deborah snapped, lifting her head to glare at her daughter, sniffing loudly as her chest heaved; Flora nodded and turned to walk away, and all at once Deborah couldn’t stand to see her go, caught by an agony that lurched through her chest and made her reach out to her, hooking her fingers in the tiny pyjama sleeve, “No, Flora, come here Sweetheart.”

Without another word Flora did as she was asked. Deborah wrapped her arms around her daughter, tucking her in underneath her chin as the little girl grumbled and reached around her engorged stomach. It didn’t make things better, but it was lovely, absolutely lovely, so lovely in fact that Deborah didn’t hear Martin’s footsteps until Flora was being extracted and dismissed, and didn’t notice the tears on her face until Martin was kneeling in front of her, brushing them away with the pad of his thumb.

“Debs…” Martin soothed, brow furrowing as his palms came to rest at her cheeks; he didn’t even move away when she brought her hands up to cling to his wrists, “Deborah what’s wrong.”

“Oh, _Martin_ …” Deborah gasped, gritting her teeth until the dam broke and she fell forwards into his arms. He kept murmuring to her, but all of that blurred into obscurity with her forehead buried in the crook of his neck.

oOoOoOo

Of course, that was the night that Deborah went into labour. It was actually quite reasonable, all things considered, with Martin getting Deborah to the hospital with plenty of time to spare, enough that they could call Arthur and have him watch Flora while they waited; everything over nice and quickly all things considered.

Douglas Arthur was born nice and early in the morning and was already proving himself a charming baby, nice and quiet, with the minimal amount of whining. He was beautiful and weighed a healthy amount and there was nothing to worry about at all. Martin had given Deborah an odd look when she had named him, but had been so entranced by his son that there was no arguing.

And yet, Deborah was happy, so happy, absolutely drowning in love for her son…which made her feel even sicker as the knot of grief never left her, forcing a lump in her throat and an iron band around her chest. Her baby boy was there, right _there_ , and she was too busy mourning her grandmother to coo over him…it was _horrible_ , and she had no idea what to say.

“He’s beautiful…” Martin was murmuring, holding Douglas in his arms as he sat cross-legged on the bed beside his wife, keeping one eye on Flora, where she was sitting after growing bored of her brother; he bounced him, and the baby gurgled, then looked up, raising his eyebrows as he looked at Deborah, “Isn’t he Deborah?”

“Yeah, he’s gorgeous.” Deborah replied softly, nodding hastily and reasserting the suitable expression without giving in to the surge of guilt that bubbled in her throat; she lifted her hand to reach out to him, then dropped it, too tired to really do more than force a smile, “He’s perfect…really…really perfect.”

“How are you doing?” Martin inquired, lowering his voice as if he were talking to someone gravely injured. He _did_ reach out, patting his hand over her knee. She could only dread to think what she looked like if he was worrying about her…then again, everyone seemed to worry about her nowadays, no matter what she did.

“I’m exhausted and drugged up and still a bit in pain.” Deborah assured him, shifting as if to pull her knees to her chest, then resisting the temptation; she plastered on a smile and made herself remember that this was a happy moment, one of the four best days of her life, “Trust me Martin, I’m _fine_.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Martin remarked, ducking his head to smile down at Douglas, eyes darting back to her every few seconds; his cheeks were lightly flushed and he was biting his lip…hinting, prodding her to talk, just like he had been for weeks now.

That was the last thing Deborah wanted to do. She didn’t even know _how_ to talk to him without sounding like a fool.

“Give him here – please, let me have him.” Deborah did the only thing she could think of, suffocating with the weight of everything that was going on, and extended both of her arms, fingers clenching in her desperation, “Can you take Flora down to the canteen, get her some lunch?”

“Okay.” Martin nodded and sat up properly, transferring the baby into her arms, watching her with his eyebrows knitted as she tucked him in against her chest; then he sighed and stood and waggled his hand for Flora to take, “You need some peace and quiet – that’s fine.”

“Thank you…” Deborah replied gently, watching as Flora hopped from her perch and took her father’s hand without arguing; they were out of the room before she remembered herself and concluded, sour taste on her tongue as she scolded herself for forgetting, “Darling.”

It was only the squirming in her arms that made Deborah realise that she was in a daze. Startling ever so slightly, she pulled her knees up to support Douglas’s head and pulled her arms just a fraction more tightly around him, tracing her fingers over his; he gripped right back, blinking blearily up at her. He was so beautiful and that only made the knot of misery pierce her happiness all the more.

“Hello Douglas…hello baby.” Deborah whispered, shaking his little hand and pressing a kiss to it; she could tell even through the heat behind her eyes that her smile wasn’t good enough, and that he was noticing, even as a baby, that it wasn’t happy enough, “Mummy’s sorry…Mummy’s sorry she’s not in a better mood – she loves you so much.”

Douglas just made a single gargling sound, pouting his tiny lips, and kicked out at her elbow.

“We’re going home soon.” Deborah continued, swallowing hard in the hope that it would flush away her negativity; not that Douglas seemed to give a damn, oblivious to everything except her faltering smile, “Daddy’s going to argue, but I’m sick of it here. I just want to go home…everything will be fine once we can cuddle up in my own bed.”

oOoOoOo

After two weeks, Deborah’s nerves still hadn’t settled. It was as bad as when she had been an alcoholic, but without the benefit of booze to soothe her frantic worrying and misery. There were reasons for it, she was sure, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on them, couldn’t bring herself to talk to Martin. It was… _well_ …Deborah was beginning to think that something might be wrong with her.

The answer to that was of course to pretend that nothing was wrong and try to get things back to normal as quickly as possible.

“Sorry, I um…sorry about that.” Deborah shook her head to dispel the haze that had formed and tapped the top of her paperwork where it was strewn across the coffee table; she looked up to force a smile for Arthur and Carolyn, both of them sitting in armchairs, watching her with a peculiar pinched expression on their faces, “Where was I?”

“Not with us, clearly.” Carolyn remarked wryly, leaning forwards with her hand folding in her lap, eyes narrowing as she bared down on her former employee; her voice was laced with something that Deborah was in no mood to try and identify, “Are you sure you’re ready to be working again?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Deborah retorted, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from becoming caustic as she focused on the paperwork, not on them, just on the paperwork, all she needed to get done…she had learnt that lesson when she had snapped at Martin the day before then spent the whole morning riddled with guilt, “When have you ever known me do something I wasn’t fully prepared to do?”

“Hmmm…” Carolyn hummed her disbelief and nodded sagely; then she patted the sides of the armchair and shifted to its edge, ready to rise, “Arthur, dear, I think it’s about time we left the happy parents alone for a while.”

“No, it’s not.” Deborah argued weakly, sagging with her arms on the table; she felt her resolve shaking as she glared up at the other woman, then blinked hard and pursed her lips, “Carolyn, you can go, because in all honesty I’m not sure why you’re even _here_ , but Arthur, you can stay as you are actually _part_ of MJN.”

“Actually Deborah, you’re not looking too brilliant.” Arthur interjected, far too controlled and calm for _him_ of all people; he watched his mother rise to her feet and moved to mirror her, resting his hands on his knees, shrugging his shoulders, “I really want to help, and I will, but I think it’s probably better if we leave you alone for a bit.”

Deborah had an argument ready, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

“I’ll go and start the car.” Carolyn announced, striding past Deborah before she could even turn to see her go; she paused in the doorway and spoke a little louder, enunciating deliberately to catch her attention, “If the _silly_ pilot knows what’s good for her, she’ll get some rest and stop fussing over the paperwork; she’s turning into her husband.”

“Yes, _thank you_ Carolyn.” Deborah sniped, but Carolyn was already gone; the absence only drove home the harrowing bone of failure into her guts, and Deborah’s headache increased in intensity.

“If you wanted to talk, you probably don’t, but if you do, I’m here.” Arthur informed her, as he passed in front of the coffee table; he knelt down to make them level, but Deborah refused to look him in the eye, “You know that, obviously, but I just thought that maybe with everything that’s going on, you might want to talk to someone else for a bit – or not, maybe I’m just being a clot.”

“I’m fine Arthur.” Deborah reassured him, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Okay…okay then.” Arthur replied, and although she didn’t see him do it, she heard him rise to his full height and tread across the room to the hall, his voice growing more distant with every step, “I’ll see you later.”

Then he was gone, and Deborah almost gasped at the peace…until Martin chose that moment to march into the room.

“They’re gone then.” Martin announced as he strode into the room, pushed up his sleeves, and flopped down onto the sofa beside her; when she opened her eyes she saw that his lips were pinched in the corner of his mouth, brow furrowed as he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, “Good; you don’t need the hassle, especially with a new baby.”

“I didn’t tell them to leave.” Deborah muttered, inhaling raggedly and folding her arms, leaning back until her shoulder was pressed up against his; then she couldn’t stand the restlessness and lurched forwards again, propping her arms up on the table and fiddling redundantly with her paperwork.

“Even so.” Martin remarked lazily, completely relaxed and calm, although Deborah could _feel_ his gaze on the back of her neck, always there, all the time, never stopping no matter how hard she tried to put on a brave face; he was always there, but she just couldn’t _get_ to him,  “Dougie is asleep, _finally_ , a-and I convinced Flora that sick little girls stay in bed, so she’s watching a movie on my laptop.”

“Wonderful.” Deborah sighed, rapping her fingers against the table top; she had no idea what to do with that information, knew that she should have cared more than just being relieved that there was nothing for her to sort out.

“You don’t need to do that now.” Martin told her, and it took a moment for her to realise that he was sitting forwards, rifling through her paperwork; he didn’t even notice her shoulders stiffening or her sharp inhale, “You should be resting.”

“Will you just stop!” Deborah snapped, raising her voice into a shout then lowering it into a stressed, strained whisper; her hands were in the air before she even knew what she was doing, clenching up and shifting away from where Martin’s arm cut across her to reach her paperwork, “All of you…just _stop_ …stop _helping_ , stop _doing things_ for me, stop _everything_. I am trying to _work_ and all I’m getting is you lot in one ear and Archie in the other-”

“He’s arranging your Gran’s funeral isn’t he?” Martin inquired warily, biting his lip. From where he was sitting, arm still held aloft, it wasn’t possible to tell what he was thinking or how annoyed his was by her outburst…he was probably annoyed by now, with his wife all out of sorts.

“And sorting out the will, and trying to get me involved, and just not _shutting up_.” Deborah concluded for him, reeling off everything she could think of; just as she felt herself tumbling into the abyss and leaning to tell him everything, vent her troubles, she stopped herself, “Please…just let me get MJN ready to go when my maternity break is over.”

“Deborah…that’s not important right now.” Martin sighed, shuffling towards her on the sofa until their knees pressed together, placing a hand on her back; he didn’t understand, “Y-you’ve just had a baby, you’re _tired_ , a-and you’ve barely been spending any time with our son-”

“ _Martin_ …” Deborah could barely get a breath out, let alone the whole word, but pressing her eyes tightly shut, forcing the heels of her palms over her eyelids, she could just about stop the ringing. She needed him so much to understand, but she just couldn’t get the words…

“No, don’t give me that.” Martin scolded her, shaking his head and cuddling closer…crowding her, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you at the moment, but- where are you going?”

“Bed.” Deborah retorted, launching to her feet and away from him; anywhere to stop the fussing and fretting over her, some peace and quiet, “You’re right, I’m tired, so I’m going to bed.”

oOoOoOo

It was already evening, Martin had gone out to help Arthur do something, and Deborah was about half an inch away from shattering completely. Flora had been ill for the past week, and it seemed that Douglas had picked up whatever sniffle she had been carrying. Now, their charmingly quiet baby was screaming, and had been screaming for six hours, and Deborah couldn’t take it any longer.

“Please… _please_ stop crying.” Deborah begged, as teary eyed as Douglas as she paced back and forth through the sitting room, holding the wailing child against her shoulder, bouncing him to no avail; nothing was working, nothing she tried, and he wouldn’t stop creaming, “ _Please…_ _Please_ stop it, stop crying – I don’t know what’s wrong – I-I-I don’t know how to fix you, _please,_ stop it.”

Mercifully, the front door swung open and a moment later Martin appeared. Deborah didn’t even let him enter the house before she barrelled into him, passing Douglas over and snatching her coat up as she stumbled past him.

“What?” Martin spluttered, too busy hooking his arms around the baby to properly support him to turn in time and stop her from slipping her coat onto her shoulders and pushing the door wide open; it was only his distraught and bewildered face that had Deborah stopping long enough to hear him ask, “Where are you going?”

“I need to go outside.” Deborah informed him, sniffing loudly and blinking to try and make the tears go away; she just needed an out, just for a little while, just until her head cleared and she could think again, “I can’t…”

Just like that Deborah strode from the house, shutting the door behind her; it did nothing to quiet the wails that were ringing through the door, even when she got in the car, still ringing out. She had no idea where she wanted to be, so Deborah started the car…then she turned off the engine and got out, started walking on foot. She didn’t know what to do, but she didn’t want to go too far.

Deborah didn’t have a clue where she was going. She barely even gave it a thought until she was sitting in the corner of their nearest bar, empty handed, hunched over the rings on the wood, startled from her miserable reverie as her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. The fact that it was there instead of on the coffee table was testament to how out of sorts she was. As she tried to set her mind to rights, letting the hushed clamour of the bar wash over her with a distasteful familiarity, Deborah pulled out her phone.

_Where are you?- M x_

One text…Deborah wasn’t even sure how long it had been since she had stormed out. Everything felt like suffocating, drowning in everything going on around her, completely unsolvable, too loud, too much all at once. He had probably been ringing the whole time and she hadn’t even noticed. Even through the fog of her own guilty, self-despising misery, Deborah couldn’t make herself turn off her phone.

Instead she sent him the name of the bar and hoped that that would comfort him while he waited for her return. It wouldn’t be enough to placate her if their situations were reversed, but…there was probably a very good reason the others hadn’t considered her a good wife…things like this…

There was no way of knowing how much time passed with her head on the bar, arms folded to block everything out. Deborah only sat up because she felt someone lower themselves down beside her and place a hand on her back…and she was stunned to see Martin, harried and flushed, untidy in his coat with his hair at odd angles, but ultimately…very _there_.

“Martin?” Deborah blinked dumbly at him, turning in her seat so that his hand slipped from her back to her arm, resting there, thumb making short movements up and down; it was only when he nodded and smiled hopefully at her that she realised what was wrong with the picture, coming alive again with a stab of panic, “Where are the children?”

“Don’t worry.” Martin assured her softly, eyes darting over her face before dropping to his knees; he was as nervous as he had ever been and yet confident all at the same time, keeping hold of her without coming too close, “I-I called Arthur…him and Sandra are watching them.” His expression shifted strangely as Deborah sagged with relief, backwards this time, into the seat’s rest; drawing his lip between his teeth, he gestured around the bar, blinking in its low light, “What are you doing here?”

Now was the time for talking…that much Deborah knew…and yet, now the moment was there, she had no idea…everything just melted, and she had no _damn_ clue.

“I don’t know.” Deborah replied dryly, staring guiltily at the edge of the bar; her arms wound around her middle, and she made no move to get closer to Martin.

“What’s wrong?” Martin asked, in the same tone of voice he used to coax Flora into doing things; he shuffled closer, pulling his seat right up next to hers so that his ankle brushed against hers, and his head, when ducked, made it perfect for them to look into one another’s eyes.

“I don’t _know_.” Deborah repeated, biting her tongue as she admitted the mess that had been inside her head for weeks, months…it was absolutely nothing, and she could have throttled herself or dissolved for all it was worth.

“I-is this…is this one of those things?” Martin stammered, his voice becoming awkward as he shifted even closer, eyes glistening with worry as he tried to take her hands in his, “I-I don’t know a lot about medicine, but i-is this one of those things, w-where women who’ve given birth – I-I think they get depressed. _Are_ you depressed?”

“I don’t know.” Deborah said again; she could almost _feel_ her anger at herself vibrating in her chest, making her hands shake in his.

“Is it your Gran?” Martin tried again, shrill and audibly more worried as he shifted even _closer_ , so close that their foreheads touched and his natural warmth was a genuine comfort; she felt so awful for scaring him.

“Maybe…I-I-I…I don’t know.” Deborah answered, shaking her head, actually _stammering_ with the effort it took; at least this was something tangible, a problem that she could give a name, instead of the tangle of everything else, “I knew she didn’t have long left…I barely even think about her…I don’t know.”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Martin nodded as exhaled sharply, rubbing hard circles into the back of her knuckles; then he stilled and tried _again_ , the stubborn bastard just kept prodding, pushing her until she gave in and dropped the act, “B-but you were…you were tetchy before Dougie was even born…please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t _know_.” Deborah exclaimed, although she heard herself, and it came out as more of a pitiful whine that dragged the resolve from her chest and left a gaping hole for the rest of her to fall through; she almost lurched forwards into Martin’s arms, but she caught herself just in time for her mouth to open and refuse to close, “I just…I just keep thinking things. I…I’m old, and we’re poor, and everyone keeps trying to _help_ me, and the company…the damn company…I just…and now Douglas on top of that, with Flora as well, my head’s all over the place.”

“I don’t understand.” Martin replied, shaking his head, speaking at almost a whisper; he looked so desperately upset, “I get that you’re overworked, but I-”

“That’s not it.” Deborah cut him off, sitting up properly before she sagged again, pulling her hands out of his and pressing them to her chest; there was nothing either of them could do and she hated it, that feeling of helplessness, “I…I just want to be _me_ again…I miss being _me_.”

That did it. Martin didn’t reach out to take her hands back. He just looked at her, eyes wide, mouth open, an odd light in his eyes…it was terrifying. Absolutely horrific, and Deborah had no idea what to do. _She_ hated herself for even thinking such a thing.

“ _Deborah…”_ Martin let out a breath, but it wasn’t the judgemental tone that she had been expecting; it was the sympathetic, loving, heartfelt breath that she had heard a hundred times over, although not since they had almost separated forever…it had been years since he had said her name like that…and that was part of the problem.

Deborah was about to say something else, but Martin reached out and took her hands again, and anything she had been formulating made way for the absolute truth.

“It’s like at some point in the last few years, everyone’s started trying to _help_ me, or do things for me, as if I need _looking after_.” Deborah explained hopelessly, letting herself droop until they were inches apart and his presence made the misery melt away at the peripheries, “I miss being the one who _fixed_ it all…and sometimes I just…it’s like I _can’t_.”

“So…why are we in a pub?” Martin inquired, plastering on a nervous, clumsy smile which fell as short as his falsely jovial tone of voice. Nevertheless, the fact that he hadn’t walked away yet was comforting… _god_ , Deborah should have talked to him earlier…not that she was feeling better…just…not as bad.

“I don’t know…” Deborah replied sheepishly, daring to meet his eyes again, only then realising that she had been avoiding them; she shrugged her shoulders…and then asked the questions that formed without her permission in her mind, “Is it awful?”

“What?” Martin asked, raising his eyebrows and giving her hands a squeeze.

“Wanting everything to go back to the way it was before.” Deborah amended, swallowing hard to dispel the panic that kept threatening to mount in her stomach; she _knew_ it was awful, all she needed was for Martin to be a fool enough not to think so, “You and me in the flight-deck, Carolyn and Arthur in the back, doing ridiculous things…before the kids...before we were married…just before.”

“D-do you…” Martin started, then trailed off; he didn’t let go, but for the first time he paused, paling ever so slightly as he realised what she was asking, “Do you regret all of that?”

“No.” Deborah replied quickly, pressing her lips together and staring down at their joined hands; she would never wish her children away, but her mind wasn’t exactly under her control of late, “That’s why it’s so awful.”

Martin didn’t say anything at first…then…

“I miss it too.” Martin admitted, clearing his throat awkwardly as he played with Deborah’s hands; her chest filled with something, warmth, fluttering, hope maybe, as he traced his eyes over the bar, then over her face, and spluttered out the rest, “But I-I-I, I love what we have now…what we have now, it can last.”

“Maybe.” Deborah agreed with lacklustre, sniffing raggedly; she still didn’t know, but this was something at least.

“Hey…Deborah” Martin’s voice lowered into something almost conspiratorial and he leaned in, bringing their foreheads together, cutting out the rest of the bar in one move; he was fidgeting, but still confident, “I…I have no idea how you’re feeling but I…it’s _me_. It’s still me…not necessarily your husband, o-or the father of your children…just _me_ … _Martin_. You know you’ve got me, same as ever.”

“I’m not the same as ever.” Deborah countered, and inwardly cursed herself for doing so immediately when she saw the look in Martin’s eyes; he was doing his best to make her heart sing and she was just crushing it without even thinking about it.

“Yeah, you are.” Martin assured her, shrugging his shoulders and the leaning back in; he had so much faith in her that it was ridiculous, and ridiculously touching, “That’s why I love you.”

“Is it weird that I miss the fighting?” Deborah inquired, in the same quiet, thin tone of voice as she tried to inject something good into the conversation; even that thought, which had started out funny, sank and became dreary, “Now when we fight it’s just sad, but back then…it was…not fun, but… _good_ …it’s what made me want you in the first place.”

“You’re gorgeous when you’re angry.” Martin chuckled, chest heaving as if the relief of hearing her make a joke was enough to make everything alright; the corners of his lips curled upwards wickedly, “And I mean, really d-devastatingly beautiful…stunning…you don’t get angry much anymore…just sad.”

“You see?” Deborah prodded, winding her fingers around his so that he couldn’t keep stroking her hands; there was nothing else she could do, not now, but she needed him to _see_ even if she couldn’t.

“I see that y-you should let _me_ look after you.” Martin whispered, and just like that he was serious again, looking into her eyes and bringing their hands down to rest over her knees, “E-even if you don’t want the others to.”

Everything wasn’t alright…but Deborah was prepared to believe that Martin thought it could be…and when Martin wanted something, Martin got it eventually. So she let herself fall forwards into his arms, tucking her cheek against his and wrapping her arms around his waist. A hug was alright for now.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Remarkably, everything was going to plan. The venue was properly set up and full of guests, everyone was wearing their clothes and fulfilling their duties…Martin was surely proud of how everything was succeeding in as ‘by the book’ a manner as possible. Deborah had even managed to get Dougie into a suit that was ridiculous on a one year old, and he wasn’t even complaining too much.

Considering just how all over the place Arthur was, it was fascinating to see just how clear Sandra’s plans were for their wedding. On the one hand, it was wonderful to know exactly what needed doing. On the other, there was a lot to do, a lot of ‘protocol’, and Deborah had spent most of it just doing as she was told and hoping that everything fell into place.

Martin had it under control, playing the Captain of the wedding. He had even helped arrange the décor, the fancy meal, the flowers at the church. Deborah had tried to tell him off when he had decided to help choose the bridesmaids dresses as well, but Martin had somehow convinced Sandra that he knew what he was doing.

Now the only person that needed monitoring was Carolyn. Herc was having trouble doing so on his own, so Deborah was making sure to keep her busy with redundant conversation, a task made all the more difficult by the baby squirming against her shoulder.

“I really think that I should go and check on him.” Carolyn muttered, rising to her feet for the eighth time, straightening her smart hat and the folds of her dress; she spoke as if to herself, ignoring both of her companions as her expression pinched, making her wrinkles all the more pronounced, “God only knows what he’s doing.”

“Carolyn, I’m sure Arthur’s fine.” Deborah sighed, switching her hold on Dougie so that she could reach out and grab the edge of Carolyn’s sleeve, tugging her back down into her seat at what was going to be the ‘table of honour’, as Arthur called it, “There’s only so much that can go wrong when he’s getting dressed.”

“Yes, but you forget that it’s _Arthur_.” Carolyn retorted in that same-old reasonable tone of voice that she had mastered over the years; nevertheless, she lowered herself back into her seat and rolled her eyes, somewhat sated by her own derision and lack of faith, “ _Arthur_ , being helped by _Martin_.”

“Precisely.” Deborah assured her, although she absolutely understood where Carolyn was coming from; gathering up her resolve, she plastered on the cheerfully false smile that she had been using more and more over the course of Martin’s descent into wedding related neurosis and sweetened her tone into a sickly croon, “The only person that needs to be fussing over the groom is the best man.”

“Deborah’s right, Carolyn.” Herc interjected wearily, reaching out to her before visibly deciding that it was best not to coddle her; despite his pleasant demeanour, the good mood that he had been carrying around with him in the advent of Arthur’s wedding, there were dark rings around his eyes that spoke of nights kept up listening to Carolyn worry, “I know it’s hard for you to see your little boy-”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Carolyn huffed, fiddling with her dress and then reaching out to the already open and half-drained bottle of champagne that Deborah had snatched from the kitchen, just for her; she didn’t even bother pouring a glass, simply threw back the bottle and chugged, pulling back with a sigh, “Arthur hasn’t been a little boy in years.”

That was very much true, no matter how childish Arthur might come across at times. He had proved that over the past few years in more ways than one.

“Nevertheless, it’s normal for you to be feeling nervous about letting him start a new, adult life.” Herc insisted, calm and clear, taking the bottle from her, placing it down just out of reach; he was impeccable as always in his smart suit, but that did nothing to help him stand up against Carolyn’s wan glare, “Everything will go to plan.”

Having experienced much of the same bother from Martin over the course of the last month, Deborah couldn’t help but feel a reluctant pang of sympathy as she stroked her hand over the fluffy curve of Dougie’s head. She wanted more than anything for Arthur’s big day to be a success, for him to finally get some happiness of his own, and it was obvious that Herc was trying to achieve the same. The man deserved some credit for remaining sane after living with Carolyn for so long…lesser men had tried and failed, through their own flaws.

“And if it will make you feel better, then I’ll go and check on the boys.” Deborah offered, exchanging a brief, meaningful glance with Herc. It was a chance to be helpful, but also to be anywhere else but listening to the litany of doubt and fear.

“But I’m his mother.” Carolyn squawked, pressing her hand to her chest in indignation.

“All the more reason not to let him see you fret.” Deborah soothed, nodding along to keep her quiet and calm, out of the way of everyone else’s efforts; without waiting for a reply, she rose to her feet, bouncing Dougie as he grumbled at the inconvenience of being jostled, slapping his hands against her cheek as she continued talking to Carolyn, “Stay out here and work on looking like your confident self.”

“See, everything’s under control.” Herc added, nodding emphatically in Deborah’s direction and finally reaching out to take Carolyn’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze before slouching back in his seat. He seemed to visibly sag with relief at the thought.

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Carolyn demanded, head turning between the two of them in search for answers as her hands fell open at her sides; she motioned towards the side of the building that had been dedicated to the bride, where Arthur had been strictly forbidden to tread, “Sandra’s mother has monopolised the bride.”

“Luckily though, she hasn’t monopolised the bridesmaid.” Deborah remarked, quirking her eyebrows as an idea appeared fully formed in her mind; it was perfect, and everything they needed to tie up all of the loose ends without physically tying Carolyn up to keep her from boozing herself into a grieving mess of pride and loss, “Go and make sure that Flora hasn’t taken her dress off…or switched her shoes onto the wrong feet.”

It was fair to say that Flora was…Flora was being herself in as much as that was possible in the carefully structured wedding procedure; just like her father, she was determined to fulfil her duty as bridesmaid…just like her father, Flora was brimming with her own ideas, all of which were clumsy, wrong, and just plain foolish. Deborah had only let her be _extremely_ reluctantly, but she would feel far more comfortable with an old, guard-dog of an ex-CEO keeping her on track.

“Fine.” Carolyn conceded, nodding and swiftly rising to her feet; if the look on her face was any indication, she was dreading just as much what she would find Flora doing. When she had left with Sandra to get dressed, Martin had had to drag her away from the hotel’s grand fish-tanks, in which she had dunked her entire left arm…in a fancy dress, she was sure to be doing something even messier.

Without another word, Carolyn strode from the room in search of her son’s goddaughter, arranging her dress as she did so while her hat bobbed atop her head.

“And you, Hercules, can watch Dougie for me.” Deborah announced, holding Dougie out and away from her shoulder as she stepped out from in front of her chair to stand over Herc; it would be far easier to deal with Martin and Arthur without a baby in tow. Besides…Herc needed something to keep him occupied otherwise he might try and follow her.

“I’d be absolutely delighted.” Herc replied, slipping into his most irritating coo as he received Dougie and sat him up on the table, one hand at his back to stabilise him; he turned his attention from Deborah to the baby, smiling down at him as Dougie blinked back, scrunching his nose in distaste and turning to look back at his mother as Herc continued, “Wouldn’t I, little man?”

“Just watch what you’re doing alright?” Deborah muttered, running her hands down the ruffles of her dress and over her hair whilst keeping one eye on the two of them, holding Dougie’s gaze; it was hard not to give in to his imploring, wide-eyed silent plea, “He doesn’t take nearly as well to jostling as Flora did.”

That much was very true, painfully so. Deborah loved her son as much as her daughters, he was one fourth of her world, but every now and then, when she was alone with him, watching him go about whatever business that babies went about, she would wonder whether he wouldn’t have been happier had she not taken so long to get her act together and actually _be_ his mother.

Dougie was quiet; hardly a flaw, Deborah knew that. Whereas Flora had been endlessly cheerful and enthusiastic from the moment that she could focus on solid objects, Dougie was…pensive. He grumbled and sniffled and panicked when he was handed over to people that weren’t in his exclusive circle, clinging to Deborah in a way that he didn’t with Martin…and he watched _everything_. Then again, it could have just been a facet of his still forming personality…Dougie was the sort of baby that could crawl perfectly well, but was content to lie in one place until Deborah picked him up and took him wherever she was going.

Either way, it made her cautious about leaving him with their friends in a way that handing Flora out never had. The fact that it was Arthur’s wedding day made it all the more important that he be happy.

“I know.” Herc assured her, switching back to his superior expression immediately as he glanced over Dougie’s shoulder; his devotion to her children was most definitely compensation for never having any of his own, and he took it very seriously no matter how caustic his relationship with Deborah, “I have known him for a year; I know what type of baby he his.”

“Still…I know he’s being quiet but he’s been in a bad mood all day.” Deborah sighed, sparing Dougie an apologetic pout as he pouted straight back at her it was hard enough prioritising Arthur as it was, but it had to be done, “I don’t want him gringeing through the ceremony because you annoyed him.”

“He won’t gringe.” Herc replied, giving Deborah his most sympathetic smile as he defended his skills as a babysitter; tickling Dougie’s sides, he dropped his gaze to talk to the baby again, “You’re a lovely quiet baby, aren’t you?”

“No. No, nnnooo…whhyyyeeee?” Dougie employed half of his limited vocabulary, fidgeting in Herc’s grasp, turning with precision to stare up at his Deborah with wide, imploring blue eyes, hands flexing in her direction; in his high-pitched whine wasn’t nearly the shrill cry that he let loose when he was really in pain or misery, regardless of the fuss he was making, “Mama whyyyeeee?”

 _Yes_ , _No, Mama, Dada, Why?_ Just a few of the words to accompany _Cat_ and _Brum_. Whenever Deborah or Martin did anything that broke from routine, Dougie would respond with at least twelve ‘ _why_ ’s. He hadn’t learnt Flora’s name yet, but he had definitely listened to his sister’s constant questioning of everything that went on around them.

“See, he’s disagreeing already.” Deborah acknowledged, reaching out to stroke the dark red curls atop Dougie’s head as she moved past the table and towards the groom’s side of the building; she gave in and glared at Herc, begging him to do as she asked for once, “Just…behave please.”

“Alright, I won’t annoy him.” Herc sighed, rolling his eyes as he looked back down at the baby, as if he didn’t care whether she saw him do it.

There wasn’t long before the ceremony. Deborah couldn’t linger too long if she wanted to make sure that Martin and Arthur were getting ready, so she stole one last glance at her son and then turned away and marched from the room.

oOoOoOo

Arthur’s room was being kept under lock and key, with Martin adamant that only the wedding party needed to be there, and in the eleventh hour, only the best man and the groom. If there had been other male members of the party, save for Herc, then they would have been given entry, but Arthur hadn’t many close male friends.

In the end, he had informed his father about the wedding, but Gordon wouldn’t be in attendance. He had however, probably due to prompting by his current wife, offered to pay for the honeymoon, and Sandra had accepted the offer before Arthur had time to think too hard about it.

The door was shut when Deborah came to the end of the corridor, but she could hear both men’s voices from within.

“Permission to enter?” Deborah called out, rapping her knuckles on the wood and then pushing the door open without invitation; she stride inside, shutting the door behind her as she turned to survey the organised madness that the two of them had managed to create in a few short hours, “How’s everyone faring?”

At first glance, it looked like everything was just fine. Both Martin and Arthur were nicely kitted out in sharp blue suits, flowers in button holes, ties straightened, hair combed…there had to be something though.

“No!” Martin hollered, spinning around from where he had been seeing to Arthur, throwing his arms out to intercept Deborah and usher her away from the centre of the room with a hand at her waist; brow furrowed, cheeks flushed, he was clearly worked off of his feet, stressing himself out over his own damning schedule, “This room is for the men only – you shouldn’t be in here.”

“You’re not on the stag do anymore, Darling.” Deborah reminded him, gripping him just above the elbows and leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, which in the wake of their night out drinking he hadn’t had time to shave, resulting in a thin layer or stumble; then she stepped past him and focused entirely on Arthur, who was playing with the knot on his tie, pushing his hand through his previously tidy hair, “Arthur, how are you feeling?”

“Brilliant.” Arthur replied cheerfully, meeting Deborah with a warm grin and pulling her into a brief hug, lifting her off the ground before dropping her back down; with a great sigh, he settled back into his relatively pleasant daze, “Really brilliant – I’m ready to get married.”

“He keeps saying that.” Martin flustered, sidling up to Deborah’s shoulder, wringing his hands together; a quick glance showed that his brow was clenched and his nose scrunched in frustration as he continued with the same air of hysteria, as if it were his own wedding that he was trying to keep in order, “I keep trying to talk him around i-into talking to me properly, but he just keeps saying that.”

“That’s because I am.” Arthur insisted, nodding hastily when Martin huffed and shook his head; he raised his hand and began counting off on his fingers each of his points, in the exasperated tone that usual came just before an odd but strangely insightful comment on the flight-deck, “I’m ready to get married – I even remembered to put a flower in my button hole, and I’ve learned my vows ahead of time in case I forget them when I’m repeating them from the vicar.”

“Good…that’s good.” Deborah murmured, biting her tongue and closing the gap between them so that she could readjust his tie for him, straighten the lapels of his jacket; in truth, it was just an excuse to be close to him before Arthur made the biggest step of his life, as she swallowed down the dewy welling in her throat that suddenly filled with nostalgia, turning the man in front of her into the boy she had met on her first day, completely incompetent but sweet all the same…something to pretend that she wasn’t feeling as she plastered on a smile, “Not nervous at all?”

“Nope.” Arthur replied brightly, rocking on his heels as he allowed her to tidy him up one last time, even though there was no need. He really did look fine, ready to go, arranged with all the dedication that he had always brought to being a steward.

“Oh…well…” Deborah wasn’t sure what there was left to say, so she slid her hands up to Arthur’s shoulders and gave them a companionable squeeze that she hoped gave him the confidence that he was hardly lacking, “Alright then.”

“How’s everything else looking?” Martin demanded, still hovering behind her as if eager to push between them and get back to work perfecting the image that he was trying to create; he was an unending mass of jittering energy, fiddling with his sleeves, tugging at his tie, “Is it all in place – is everyone behaving?”

“Everything’s fine Martin.” Deborah sighed, finally letting go of Arthur to turn back to her husband; inhaling deeply, she regained what little composure she had lost and put on a brave face, just for him, “We’re just about ready.”

“Brilliant.” Arthur declared, and he clapped his hands together; as always, he was untouched by the nerves that those around him were carrying, but that was to his benefit, today of all days, “Let’s go.”

oOoOoOo

Contrary to everyone’s expectations, the ceremony went smoothly; perfectly in fact, without a single hitch. Sandra was beautiful in her dress, calm and confident, stealing anxious glances at her mother every few seconds. Arthur was…Arthur actually did exactly as he was supposed to, said all his lines perfectly without adding or taking away a word.

There was one moment, which Deborah was certain she was the only person to see, in which Arthur extended his arm ever so slightly, lowering his eyes from Sandra’s face, and when he turned his wrist to shuffle his sleeve back into place…she saw that his skin was stained with slim lines of tightly packed ink.

Deborah had never been more proud of him in all the years that they had known each other. All of sudden she had been struck by a pang of nostalgia and something else that was warm and overwhelming, simmering in her chest and flooding through the rest of her, making her breathing hitch. Arthur glanced over to her and Deborah felt her eyes prickle and hot tears well behind the lids as he smiled cheerfully; beside her, Carolyn sniffled haughtily. The only thing that Deborah could think to do to maintain her composure was to avert her eyes and entertain herself by staring at Martin’s stoic stance off to the side.

To top it all off, Flora behaved and skipped alongside Sandra without flouncing or falling over her own feet, and Dougie kept quiet by falling asleep and staying asleep until he was placed in the baby seat at the reception, where he was successfully distracted by the legions of cooing young women that had come to see Sandra get married.

After that everything happened in a rush, passing by in a blur, until they were seated in the hotel, enjoying the reception, and Martin rose to his feet to give his best-man speech. He had been preparing it for months, labouring over it, tweaking it to perfection without actually achieving anything.

Sandra and Arthur were sitting between Carolyn and Sandra’s mother, hands interlinked on the table between them; both looked up and smiled serenely as Martin rose to his feet, tugging at the edges of his suit and clearing his throat. He let one hand fall to his side, and Deborah lifted hers for him to grasp, giving him a little boost of confidence and a warm smile. When the room fell silent Martin stammered, but Deborah gave his hand a squeeze and he blushed, nodding decidedly and setting his shoulders back.

“Hello…everyone…um…” Martin announced, letting out a nervous laugh as he looked out at all the people that were watching him, like gulls waiting for a fish to flounder too near the water’s edge; his fingers curled around Deborah’s, shaking imperceptibly, but he carried on nonetheless, “My name’s Captain Martin Crieff a-and if you don’t know already – I-I’m the best man.”

Carolyn and Herc snorted, and Deborah rolled her eyes, but thankfully nobody else in the room knew Martin well enough to know that they should have been teasing him.

“Um…I-I-I know this speech is supposed to be funny, a-and it will be, _even though_ I didn’t let my _wife_ do it _for me_.” Martin trailed off to grit his teeth and glare down at Deborah, although he didn’t release her hand, narrowing his eyes at her; he had put up quite a fight when Deborah had insisted that she was the most hilarious; the sound of laughter had his head snapping up to stammer at the crowd, “N-no – that wasn’t meant to be a joke.”

“Actually, I want to talk seriously about Arthur.” Martin remarked, inhaling deeply and gathering his confidence, drawing his lip between his teeth as he turned to look down at Arthur, “I’ve known Arthur for many…many years, and he is without a doubt – brilliant. He is – he’s a brilliant steward and a brilliant friend, and worth far more than any of us give him credit for.”

Arthur made a soft, surprised sound at the back of his throat, and he blinked quickly as he nodded along to Martin’s words. He peered around Martin to meet Deborah’s gaze, only to blush as an ‘aw’ rippled through those gathered.

“It took me a long time to think of what to say about him but…t-to decide how best to describe him to those of that that maybe d-don’t know him that well and I…” Martin choked up and ducked his head, pushing his hand under his nose as he flushed in embarrassment; his hand flexed against Deborah’s, hot and sweaty, but he curled his free hand through the air as he worked to recall the words that he had already set in stone, “The best I can come up with is that, e-even though Arthur may seem childish, because he’s so happy and optimistic and…slow…he’s actually the most grown-up out of all of us.”

At this Sandra let out of tinkling laugh, and Carolyn actually choked before regaining herself. Deborah could only glance at the dewy eyed crowd for a moment, drawn by the warm glow in her chest, which lit a smile on her lips, to gaze between Martin and Arthur, unable to decide which of them looked more embarrassed or touched.

“When things go wrong h-he just rises above it all a-and tries to find a way to put it right, even if that means delegating to those more…adept than himself.” Martin explained, chuckling awkwardly at his own joke as one or two of the guests sniggered good-naturedly, and Sandra snorted, “A-and unlike a lot of us, he’s never been afraid to love completely, with all his heart, a-and to put everyone else before himself.”

Taking in a deep breath, Martin looked first at Arthur, then down to Deborah, over their joined hands, eyes wandering over her face as he spoke again.

“I remember when my wife and I were falling in love a-and we were constantly at each other’s throats, b-but Arthur, he was always there for both of us, never taking sides, just being there offering some of the wisest words I’ve ever heard…” Martin’s throat bobbed as he tried to remain cool and composed, but the gratitude that he exuded lowered his tone into a clumsy mess as he pushed a hand through his hair; Deborah didn’t remember seeing this part in his speech, “Not that I can really remember them – it was more the feeling behind them that mattered.”

“M-my point is, of all the people in the world, no one is going to love you more, Sandra, a-and no one deserves happiness half as much.” Martin concluded, finally letting go of Deborah’s hand so that he could press the both of his together and then reach for his glass of champagne, raising it into the air, “S-so – a toast to Mr Shappey and Ms Pinkleton.”

The guests raised their glasses and murmured their cheers to the happy couple, and Martin practically collapsed into his seat at Deborah’s side.

“Oh wow Skip – that was more than brilliant.” Arthur exclaimed, leaning far enough over the table that he could see him without having to get up; his cheeks were flushed, his smile wide, and his eyes were watering as his lips trembled without restraint, “Thank you.”

oOoOoOo

With Arthur and Sandra on honeymoon and MJN out of action until their return, there was plenty of time to gather and sit around; plenty of time to keep an eye on Carolyn and make sure that she wasn’t going stir crazy without her son to keep in line. For once, Deborah had managed to arrange that they met at Carolyn and Herc’s house instead of hers and Martin’s, using the element of surprise…namely, getting in the car early in the morning and arriving before Carolyn had time to invade.

“So have you decided what you’re going to do when they get back from their honeymoon?” Deborah inquired, slouching back into Carolyn’s grand sofa, turned into the room enough that she could hook her ankles over Martin’s and rest Dougie in the gap between their legs, “Find someone else’s cat to babysit?”

“Can we have a cat?” Flora asked as she charged in from the kitchen just ahead of Herc, biscuit held aloft in her little hand; she launched herself onto the sofa, narrowly missing Dougie as she landed on Martin’s lap and rearranged herself accordingly, pushing her wild ginger curls away from her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“No sweetheart.” Martin muttered as he wrapped his arms around Flora’s waist and settled her down, grimacing as she elbowed him in the ribs, offering Carolyn an apologetic, thin lipped smile, “No one would ever feed it.”

“I’m retiring.” Carolyn spoke over them, folding her hands in her lap and pinching her expression in distaste; she met Deborah’s gaze and cleared her throat, continuing with a reluctant certainty, “For good this time.”

“So you’re admitting that you _have_ been working for MJN for the past few years?” Deborah drawled, quirking her eyebrows and smirking at her from across the room; for all of the woman’s bluffing, she had never really left them alone, keeping an eye on things when she was bored, or ‘concerned’.

“Against my advice.” Herc interjected, shaking his head with barely restrained disapproval as he lowered himself down in the winged armchair that had moved in at the same time as he had.

“Yes, yes I have.” Carolyn conceded, sighing and shrugging her shoulders as if she could maintain her matriarchal façade while admitting to huge moments of sentimentality, “But…you’re all grown-ups…you’re all married now…it’s time to accept that you can manage on your own.”

“Are you trying to imply that all your badgering us – for over a decade – has been because you worry about us?” Martin snorted, laughing awkwardly, turning his head to catch Deborah’s eye; he earned a small smile, and Flora’s giggle, although she couldn’t possibly understand the humour.

“I’m saying nothing of the sort.” Carolyn huffed, fixing Martin with a stony glare that might have burned a man of lesser nerve, or at least, one that hadn’t spent years of his life being scolded on GERTI’s flight-deck.

“What are you going to do with this retirement?” Deborah inquired, before Martin could say anything else to end the conversation or push it into an argument; she couldn’t imagine Carolyn actually giving up her active lifestyle, or keeping away from MJN for longer than a month without sticking her nose in, as she was not ‘a little old lady’, “Hide away in the country somewhere?”

“We’re going on a world tour.” Herc explained, perhaps a tad too quickly. The reason for his haste became apparent when Carolyn hissed through her teeth and batter her hand in his direction, failing to make contact through the mercy of feet of air between them; his guilty shrug did nothing to tame the smug smile on his face.

“Oh…that’s nice.” Deborah remarked slowly, narrowing her eyes at her and slipping her hand around Dougie’s back, taking comfort from the his warm solidity, punching her knee with his tiny fists; she wasn’t sure what the cold churning her guts signified, but the thought of Carolyn jetting off left a sour taste on her tongue, “After all, it’s not like you haven’t seen large parts of the world already.”

“Airports don’t quite provide the full flavour of a country.” Herc informed her, dryly giving her a look that she would have rather chewed up and thrown away than acknowledged for so long as he was encouraging Carolyn to get up and leave them to it; how dare he make it sound so reasonable, “We thought it was about time to actually make the most of what the world has to offer.”

“That sounds lovely.” Martin hummed thoughtfully; he rested his cheek over Flora’s hair as a small smile played across his lips, “We should do that when the kids are older.”

“Am I correct in assuming that once Arthur gets back you…won’t be?” Deborah demanded, sitting forwards and completely ignoring Martin; she had to quickly balance Dougie and pull him onto her lap, but she didn’t let it distract her from trying not to look too upset, on trying to pry the answer from Carolyn without repercussions, “You won’t be around?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to miss me.” Carolyn purred, shark-like demeanour capturing her every feature as she tented her fingers, a renewed glint in her eyes; she had no idea how near to the truth was, but would use what she had to torture her, of that Deborah was absolutely certain. There was no way that she would do anything else.

“No…no.” Deborah muttered, dropping her gaze and making a show of burying her nose in Dougie’s hair, hugging him closer and doing her best to ignore the prickle that Carolyn’s gaze incited on the back of her neck, “I’m just anticipating the quiet is all.”

“I will send postcards.” Carolyn assured her, something in her tone going soft, although Deborah didn’t want to look up in case she was mistaken, “And I still expect a phone call when you reach your destinations so that I know you haven’t crashed into the side of a mountain.”

oOoOoOo

It had been a long day. The flight had been a short one involving Arthur chasing twenty toddlers around GERTI while Dougie whinged in the flight-deck, still unhappy about flying at all in a way that drove Martin to madness when he was around, so Deborah had had plenty of time to pick Flora up from school. Now they were home, she wanted nothing more than to put her feet up and wait for Martin to get home so that he could lavish affection on her.

“Daddy!” Flora’s ecstatic cry sounded before Deborah had stepped through the door, and the little girl bounded past her, flying into the sitting room only to be hoisted into the air by her father. Martin grinned as he lifted her into his arms, glancing over her shoulder to beam at Deborah, murmuring his greetings into Flora’s ear.

“Martin – what are you doing home?” Deborah asked, raising her eyebrows at him as she pulled the door closed and made her way into the room, depositing Dougie on his play-may so that she could come to stand in front of her husband, arms winding around her middle, “It’s only four in the afternoon.”

“I booked a half day.” Martin explained brightly; then he seemed to realise that he wasn’t free from interrogation, and slowly lowered Flora back to the floor, ushering her away with a hand at her shoulder as he held Deborah’s gaze, flushing under her watch, “Thought we could have dinner out as a family.”

“Right…” Deborah replied, nodding but refusing to let the matter lie; Martin had that look on his face, the sort that couldn’t hide the fact that he was trying and failing to be devious, slightly harried, so she prompted him with a lilted question, “Then back in bright and early on Monday then?”

“Nope – I’m taking the next fortnight off as well.” Martin assured her, lips pulling so tightly into his cheeks that even the lines at the corners of his eyes did nothing to make the expression seem more natural; oh, he knew that he was in trouble and was trying to pull one over one her, “Fully paid…don’t worry.”

“Martin, you do realise that this is the sort of thing you’re supposed to tell me about?” Deborah did her best not to sound too curt, although she was too tired to be more than exasperated with him at that time, as she pressed the tips of her fingers over her eyes; she couldn’t for the life of her remember when _she_ had become the realistic one in their relationship, “I’m still working next week – and the one after that.”

“Yes, I know – so am I.” Martin chirped, biting down on his bottom lip and tugging on his sleeve; he let out a short breath of air and reached out to brush the hair behind Deborah’s ear, stepping back when she didn’t react as he had intended, “I’m going to come and work at MJN for a couple of weeks.”

“Ah…” Deborah sighed and closed her eyes completely, then turned on her heel and strode from the room to climb the stairs, with every intention of getting in the bath and getting some rest; the last thing she needed was to be worrying or wallowing, or whatever it was that Martin thought she was doing, “I don’t need keeping company.”

“I know you miss Carolyn.” Martin informed her, his footsteps following hers as he climbed the stairs in her wake, slipping his hands around her waist when they were on the landing; it didn’t stop her from walking to the bedroom, but there was a sense that he was preparing to turn her around…so Deborah span around of her own accord.

“What are you doing Martin?” Deborah demanded softly, placing her hands over his so that he couldn’t lull her into compliance with gentle touches; she knew that he was up to something. There was always something when Martin broke from his routine, and he was only so secretive when it was something that might upset her.

“I’m being recklessly and impulsively romantic.” Martin offered, pouting his lips just so as he swayed them both and batted his eyes down at her; it took less than a second before he gave up and his shoulders sagged, “Look, I know it’s not dinner or a trip to Paris, but it’ll be nice. No harm done.”

“What are you really doing Martin?” Deborah repeated, refusing to give in so easily.

“Killing two birds with one stone.” Martin huffed, exhaling sharply and frowning dejectedly as he traced his eyes over her face and then glanced around their bedroom; there was always something going on in his head, and if he had kept it in so long, it must have been bothering him, “I’m giving you the pick-me-up you need…and I’m taking a break from my horrible first officer.”

“I see.” Deborah acknowledged, sliding her hands up from his to rest on his shoulders, squeezing gently and rubbing small circles with her thumbs; they had talked about this before, and before that, and time and time again, and nothing seemed to change, “You can’t do this forever you know. You work for Fast Jets UK.”

“I know I do, but…” Martin insisted, eyes lighting up with the wicked glint that they sometimes gained, fast in the wake of his flushed cheeks and shoulders tensed ready for action; he lowered his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, as if someone might overhear his evil schemes, “What if MJN were making enough of a profit to sustain the both of us?”

“You mean to replace the twenty-one thousand pounds a year you’re making now?” Deborah remarked, raising her eyebrows and shifting to hold him at arm’s length; just as she had thought, it was one of his insane ideas that never really came to fruition, “We’d have to completely revolutionise, revitalise the company _and_ take the kids out of school to cover the layovers.”

“Exactly!” Martin exclaimed, leaping back and throwing his hands into the air, fingers splayed as a thrilled grin lit up his whole face; he was practically jumping for joy, enthused as he was, spinning once on his heel in the middle of their bedroom.

“You want to take the kids out of school?” Deborah deadpanned, folding her arms as she struggled to balance disbelief with the part of her that was completely unimpressed; they had too many problems to be talking about such a ridiculous concept, “Before Dougie’s even started? You want to revolutionise MJN into something that actually earns?”

“No-sort of- it could work over time!” Martin insisted, gesticulating wildly as he scrunched up his face in concentration; in one swift movement he slapped his palm against his forehead and focused in on her, stilling as he held Deborah’s gaze, “We wouldn’t have to take the kids out of school…you want to send them to boarding schools.”

“I want them to get the best education possible, which often happens to come from boarding schools.” Deborah corrected him, careful not to let emotion or pride colour her tone as she watched Martin’s every move, “We’re using my Grandmother’s money to do it.”

With his class pride, his determination not to have life handed to him on a plate as he seemed to think she had, they had only had one conversation about public school, and it hadn’t ended well. Deborah didn’t want to know what had happened to reshuffle Martin’s priorities, but anything that could make him accept the idea of sending their children into private education had to be ambitious.

“See!” Martin agreed vehemently, as if Deborah had said something helpful; he just kept nodding, cheeks flushing with excitement, “If we got MJN making real profits by the time Dougie’s in boarding school, we could both work there, layovers or not.”

“That won’t be until he’s at _least_ eleven!” Deborah exclaimed, trailing off into an almost hysterical laugh, mouth hanging agape as she raised her hand to press its heel against her eyes.

“So we’ve got ten years to do it!” Martin yelled, his enthusiasm never faltering for a second as he closed the gap between them and grasped Deborah’s arms, pulling her into a near embrace.

“Martin, this is an _insane_ scheme.” Deborah insisted, listening to her own voice lose its silky drawl and turn high pitched and shrill; she sighed, letting out every knot of tension clenching in her lungs, and blinked up at him, reaching out to brush the back of her knuckles over his cheek, “I love you Darling, but historically your insane schemes never end well.”

It was so easy to imagine…MJN up and running again, just the three of them with Carolyn calling them on the sat-com, flying here there and everywhere just like old times and taking day flights during the holidays so that they could be with the children. It was so easy…which meant that with the equilibrium of their pooled luck, something was bound to go completely wrong.

“But this one is good.” Martin lowered his voice and bent down, so that they were level with each other, his blue eyes staring into hers; there was no hiding how much he wanted it, “Come on dear, come on…we both keep our jobs for now, but we work on building something even _better_.”

“Ten years to turn MJN into a successful airline?” Deborah inquired, in barely more than a whisper, not daring to believe that there was anything they could do other than humour Martin’s sudden ambition.

“Yes!” Martin beamed, stealing a brief kiss as if she had given him her blessing, “I want that more than anything.”

When he looked at her like that, there was really no way for Deborah to let him down.

“I’ll think about it.” She promised, forcing herself to smile and accept Martin’s warm embrace as she conceded to actually doing so; there was no harm in giving the idea a few nights’ consideration.

oOoOoOo

In the end, the decision was made in the wake of a near death experience.

Martin was still on his ‘break’, and the four of them plus Arthur were flying back from a job; the children were strapped down in the Cabin because they had both been moaning, Dougie understandably as he was a baby, Flora less understandably as she knew better. The sky was unusually dark for late afternoon in October, and it wasn’t until they were nearing Fitton that it became apparent just how awful the weather in the midlands had become.

With high winds, rain, and lashing of lightning, they could barely hear the engines over the turbulence.

“Deborah, we can’t fly through that.” Martin stressed, hands leaping over the control panel with far more precision than they ever did when he had first joined MJN; if it had been any other time, Deborah might have teased him for it, but now all she could focus on was the red-faced, knitted browed, sheer concentrated fear on his face, “GERTI isn’t nearly strong enough to outlast that storm.”

“I know, Captain, I know.” Deborah muttered, taking deep breaths and seeing to the controls that Martin didn’t, making sure that everything was alright as her mind leapt back to where their children were probably terrified, “Get in touch with ATC, find us somewhere to land.”

“You have control?” Martin asked, as he reached out to turn on the sat-com, knocking his hat from his head without even noticing; of course she had control. Ever since Flora had first started flying with them, he had let her, the better pilot, take control when things went wrong…some things were more important than his pride.

“I have control.” Deborah assured him, suddenly wishing away all of the excitement that she had been selfishly praying for; again, she was hit with a wash of fear for her babies, and turned to look to Martin, meeting his eye and telling him, “But…just stand by, at the ready.”

Deborah didn’t stop feeling frightened for hours afterwards, after the botched landing into Bristol, after she had squeezed her son and daughter tightly only to have Martin’s arms close around them and his chest press up against her back, after the plane was taken away somewhere safe and she was left alone to deal with all the things a CEO had to deal with while the rest of them went somewhere quiet to calm down.

Not until she saw Martin walking across the airport floor, sans his hat but looking every bit the Captain that she had known he was when she married him, even if no one else could ever see it…not until his hands were cupping hers did she stop feeling scared as the strangest thought blossomed in her mind.

“How are the kids holding up?” Deborah inquired, an imperceptible shake in her voice as she leaned into Martin’s shoulder, resting her cheek on his shoulder before leaning back, keeping their hands interlinked. She could still hear Dougie wailing and Flora sniffling, shockingly collected for a little girl as ditzy as she was.

“They’re being good as gold.” Martin assured her, as unusually subdued as he always was in the aftermath of a shock; there was the same-old pallor in his face and the dazed fog in his eyes, “Dougie’s asleep and Flora’s eating her way through a Toblerone.”

“Good…good…Arthur’ll keep them quiet.” Deborah replied, nodding slowly enough that she ducked her head and ended up staring at her feet, trying desperately to gather her thoughts into a decent order; it was difficult when she was stunned…completely stunned speechless, “That’s good.”

“What’s the damage?” Martin asked quietly, glancing away as a group of men on a stag-do marched past; it had been a while since he had sounded so downtrodden.

“Physically? Substantial…” Deborah answered, unable to relinquish her bewilderment as she traced her eyes over his face, not giving a damn who was listening in on their misery…or lack of it; she wasn’t the best CEO in the world, but for once she was feeling like she had done Carolyn proud, “Monetary…almost nothing.”

“What?” Martin spluttered, scrunching up his nose as his eyebrows leapt to his hairline as he leaned back as if to get a better look at her; there was something about wrong-footing him that lifted a weight from Deborah’s chest, “But we need the tyres replacing, th-the engine fixing, the hydraulics need touching up.”

“The insurance is covering it.” Deborah replied, blinking as if in a new light, giving his hands a squeeze, swinging them in the space between them; it really was like a breath of fresh air, the sort of rush that she hadn’t had in years, “We just crashed the plane and…and we’re still making a _profit_.

“W-we are?” Martin gasped, narrowing his eyes in disbelief; she couldn’t blame him, “How are we doing that?”

“It’s not as big a profit as it would have been, but we’re still in the clear.” Deborah explained, rationalising the bombshell that the engineers had laid on her only a short while earlier; a nervous laugh escaped her as her lips curled into a smirk, thrill simmering in her chest, “Martin…we just _crashed_ , put GERTI out of action for the night, and we’re still _making money_.”

“What are you saying?” Martin asked warily, in even less than a whisper, as if he were afraid of the answer.

“I’m saying…” Deborah started, then was too overwhelmed with the giddy rush to get the rest of her sentence out, but she couldn’t even curse herself for her lack of composure; she used their linked hands to pull Martin closer, unable to keep the smile from her face, “Ten years, that’s what you said?”

“I don’t…” Martin stammered, then his eyes widened and he nodded, mouth falling open as he stilled completely, “ _Oh_ …yeah, I said that, but what has that got to do with anything?”

“Martin, don’t you understand?” Deborah enthused, begging him to understand just what they could do, how bright their future was looking no matter how old they got, no matter where the children’s lives carried them, everything was going to be okay, “MJN is currently sound enough that we can crash the plane and still be alright – if we can do that, then there’s no reason why we _couldn’t_ build up the airline.”

“Y-you want to do that?” Martin asked, visibly restraining himself and refusing to be as happy as she was; he used their proximity to try and peer in through her eyes into her mind, the picture of concern, “You actually want to do that – _now_ , after we crashed? Debs, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m absolutely fine; we _all_ are.” Deborah insisted, rocking up on her heels and inhaling sharply; then she let out the breath and looked him dead in the eye, not caring that they were in the middle of an airport after a near death experience, because she hadn’t felt so empowered in years, and she was ready to get cracking, “Martin…I’m in. It may take a decade, but I’m willing to get MJN up and running, properly. If we do this properly, MJN might actually outlast us.”

“The kids could have it.” Martin mused, and just like that he seemed to _finally_ understand what she was saying. With a gasp, his face lit up, and Martin grinned as the idea took form, literally clouding his gaze.

“Exactly.” Deborah purred, reaching out and bringing them together so that she could grasp his shoulders, just at the curve of his neck, and press their lips together, relishing the rush of affection that flooded her chest, “Martin, you my darling, are a genius.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this, there are only 2 more before the end. I'll be using the end of this as a chance to spend more time on my original work (of which there is a lot building up, especially with uni).
> 
> What I will do though is accept prompts and try and write them up as one-shots, because it breaks my heart to let it go completely. It can be this AU, anything Cabin Pressure, or another fandom. (In brief, I know Harry Potter, Sherlock (AND Sherlock Holmes ACD), Elementary, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Cabin Pressure, Marvel, Star Trek, basically most things).
> 
> So, if anyone would like to prompt anything for later, let me know.

**Chapter 18**

It had been years since they had had a proper holiday, away from work and school and bossy passengers. It had been a relief to be able to pack their nine year old daughter and six year old son into the car and drive them down to Cornwall for the week. It had been positively lovely seeing how excited the two of them got in the run up to Summer.

What hadn’t been anticipated, and Deborah didn’t stop inwardly cursing herself for her short-sightedness, was that Martin would spend nearly an hour driving around and around the very steeply-hilled village on the Cornish coast, refusing to park the damn car. There was a perfectly good drive outside of the cottage, but apparently that wasn’t good enough.

“Are we going to drive around the whole town?” Flora inquired from the back seat, bright and pleasant, without a trace of the exasperated boredom that her brother was exuding; she was sitting up as high as she could get, camera pointed out through the window, snapping everything that she laid her eyes on, “It’s just, I need to know whether to keep my camera out or not.”

“No, we won’t be driving around the whole town.” Martin replied through gritted teeth, tipping his nose into the air with his self-same pinched expression as if he had swallowed a lemon. Nevertheless, he was doing his best to remain cool and calm and captain-like with his hands grasped around the steering wheel, his eyes darting all over the place in search for a parking space that suited his pernickety standards.

“Okay.” Flora acknowledged, nodding quickly and pressing her lips together; she lowered her voice, but not enough, as she sat back and muttered into the screen of her camera, “It sort of feels like we are though.”

“Well, we’re not.” Martin informed her, doing his best to keep his patience in check as they passed the small town’s harbour for the third time since their arrival, and had to turn to get back up the one-way hill; it was the same airy tone that he always used when he was trying to justify a diversion to some random and remote country, “I’m just looking for the best place to park.”

At this, Deborah turned in her seat, hooking her arm over the back of it so that she could observe both of their children; Flora, scrolling through the pictures that she had already taken, Dougie, a portable DVD player tucked against his knees and earplugs transporting the sound of the Star Trek box sets that his Uncle Archie had bought him for his birthday.

“You see sweetheart, your Father has very high standards.” Deborah drawled, reaching out as far as she could to get Flora’s attention by tickling her ankle; she continued when the due amount of attention was given, smirking as Martin huffed beside her, “He’ll only park when he finds the shortest walk, the easiest place to reverse out of, and a scientifically impossible amount of shade.”

“I-I don’t mind walking, Mummy.” Dougie piped up, without taking his eyes off the screen in front of him as his little hand moved up to brush one earphone from his head; he frowned as he stammered, speaking clearly as always despite his age, “But…the…the hill is really steep.”

“See, the hill’s too steep.” Martin remarked, nodding at Dougie’s reflection in the rear view mirror, gesticulating vehemently out of the window as he revved the motor and sent the car climbing up the ever more steep hill, “This is why I need to find somewhere to put the car – somewhere between the house and the town, b-but not too far from either.”

“Did you find that in the holiday manual?” Deborah inquired wryly, quirking her eyebrow at him without turning back to face forwards. He had been so eager to plan their holiday step by step that she hadn’t needed to do any preparation of her own; it was much easier to let Martin fill his head with all sorts of useless schedule and procedure relating to Cornwall.

“Yes, actually, I did.” Martin retorted primly, cheeks flushing red as he took his eyes from the road and glanced at her, biting his lip; when she only smirked, he glanced over his shoulder before staring ahead and stammering, “I read it cover to cover, a-and there was a lot of useful information – w-wasn’t there, Flora?”

“Oh, you didn’t make her read it too?” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes at him as she dropped Flora a sympathetic grimace, an exasperated warmth settling in the base of her chest; chances were, her daughter had soaked up Martin’s attention and actually enjoyed every second of his boring lectures, “Martin, the poor girl’s got enough on her plate already.”

“I didn’t mind.” Flora interjected, shrugging her shoulders, unabashedly enthusiastic as ever; she was cut off with an ‘oomph’ as Martin drove over the curb, but she carried on as if unimpeded, “I love reading – my teacher says it’s my best thing.”

“That was nice of her.” Deborah remarked hastily, plastering on her brightest smile as she reached over the back of the chair to give her a gentle congratulatory pat on the knee; there wasn’t often much to celebrate as far as Flora was concerned, not when she had inherited all of her mother’s confidence and all of her father’s…ineptitude…so she wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass, “Isn’t that nice Dougie? Your sister’s finally got a best thing.”

“Yeah, i-it’s nice.” Dougie answered softly, worrying his lip between his teeth as he lowered the DVD player and closed the lid, meeting Deborah’s gaze; if she wasn’t mistaken, he actually looked sheepish, as he always did when he couldn’t keep up with what the rest of them were doing because he was so young, “I didn’t read the book.”

“That’s alright.” Martin assured him, while Deborah just narrowed her eyes at her son; his demeanour lightened ever so slightly as he preened at the opportunity to show off, fingers rapping on the top of the steering wheel, “I can tell you everything that was in it – mostly jargon, but it never hurts to know the technical details of whatever you’re doing.”

“Did you learn every page?” Flora chirped, eyes widening with the wonderment that both of the children always held in Martin’s presence; she leaned forwards in her seat, until her seatbelt pulled taut, “Just like the plane manual?”

“Yes I did.” Martin replied proudly, shooting Deborah a meaningful glare that she only paid a moment of attention to; he had spent the best part of the last five years trying to teach Flora, then Dougie, everything he knew about aircraft, “Every single page – easy peasy.”

“Are you alright, Dougie?” Deborah inquired gently, interrupting and ignoring Flora’s quick exultation in favour of catching reaching out and tugging on Dougie’s foot to draw his attention away from his hands; normally he would have been rocking forwards, listening intently even if he didn’t have anything to add, “You’ve been awfully quiet since we left the service station.”

“I’m okay, Mummy.” Dougie assured her, although he wasn’t quite old enough to have mastered the art of careful deception; even as he lifted his DVD player and waggled it, he sniffled, pushing his free hand under his freckled nose and then fiddling with his dark curls, “I’m watching my show.”

“Alright, good boy.” Deborah nodded in acceptance, deciding to let the matter lie instead of pushing it as Martin might; instead, she turned back to face forwards, adjusting her strap and fixing Martin with a patient glare as he rested her hand on her cheek, “Not that this isn’t fun, darling, and I insist that it _is_ fun to drive around and around in circles, but are you planning on parking any time soon…before the petrol runs out, perhaps?”

“I will, when I’ve found somewhere good enough.” Martin insisted, scrunching his face up as he deliberately refused to look at her, staring out at the road; they passed the town’s only public car park again, for the fourth time, only to start trundling down the hill towards the beach, again, “I’m not paying to park our car for the week, not when there are perfectly good spaces all over the town.”

“Mummy, Daddy.” Flora piped up, leaning as far out of her seat as she could, placing her hands on the backs of both of their seats; the car rumbled loud enough to drown her out, but she just spoke louder, in a perfectly confident imitation of Martin when he was boasting about his position as Captain, “When we were at the services, I was talking to Dougie about when we go back to school.”

“Oh yes?” Deborah replied, raising her eyebrows and smiling as she kept one eye on Martin, and the other on the road, “What were you telling him?”

“That I’m going to sign up for all of the clubs.” Flora announced proudly, pursing her lips and pushing her ginger curls behind her ears as she plastered on a bright smile and waited for a response…a response that didn’t come straight away. Not that she noticed the quick glance that her parents exchanged.

“A-all of them?” Martin asked, letting his mouth flap open and shut as he took his attention away from the road to glance between Flora and Deborah, flushing even redder under their gaze; his trepidation was completely understandable, “Are you sure that’s…I mean, th-that’s a _lot_ of hard work, a-and you…Debs?”

Of course, Martin looked to her for help; he could never tell his daughter that she was perhaps…not best suited to anything really. They had spent enough time in A&E tending to her sporting wounds, enough nights listening to her torture every instrument that the school was willing to lend them, displayed enough…interesting creative pieces to know that…what Flora needed was practice…lots and lots of practice…not that she would ever do anything by half.

“What Daddy means, Flora, is that _all_ of the clubs might be a stretch.” Deborah elaborated, clearing her throat and doing her best to sound reasonable without being condescending; the last thing she wanted to do was discourage her, “Perhaps you should join _one_ club and master _that_ skill.”

“No, I’m signing up for all of them.” Flora replied cheerfully, oblivious as always, although it was becoming hard to tell when she was genuinely happy, and when she was being deliberately sweet to get her own way; she nudged her brother with her elbow, “Isn’t that right Dougie?”

“I think –maybe, if you want.” Dougie answered quietly, murmuring and staring at his hands as he fidgeted in the back seat, “I don’t know…yeah.”

“Are you going to join any clubs, Dougie?” Martin asked hastily, changing the subject abruptly as he bit down on his lip to stop himself from discouraging Flora; unlike with Flora, Martin had taken great pleasure in discovering that while Dougie didn’t often try new things, he was always perfectly skilled at everything they _could_ get him to attempt, “I bet you’d be great a-at things like Chess, o-or the science clubs, o-or sports, or music – whatever you want.”

“I don’t want to.” Dougie shook his head, lifting his eyes long enough to meet Martin’s gaze before staring back down at his twiddling thumbs. Deborah had no doubt that there was something wrong, and it had her turning in her seat again to observe him; reserved he may have been, but the boy was only this quiet when he was sad.

“Why not?” Martin retorted, startling as he took his eyes from the rear-view mirror and quickly made a turn just before they missed it; the juddering of the car was eclipsed only by his guilty grimace.

“I don’t want to join any clubs, Daddy.” Dougie muttered decidedly, scowling at his persistence.

“Are you having trouble at school?” Deborah prompted, reaching out to let the tip of her finger trace the curve of his trainer; she didn’t react when he pulled his foot away, only sighed and carried on, “You haven’t said anything.”

“No, nothing. I – I don’t want to – I want to stay home after school.” Dougie insisted, shaking his head and pressing his lips together tightly; then he sat up straight and stared out the window, raising his hand to point out through the glass, “There’s the ice-cream house again.”

oOoOoOo

It was nice to be home and back at work, with Martin going to work and coming home by six every evening, the children in school until three when Deborah would come and pick them up; it was lucky that MJN was only taking short flights on weekdays, with Martin home to help her fly long hauls on weekends. With their savings building up, Martin earning extra cash from Icarus Removals, and their joined attempts at bolstering MJN, everything was beginning to settle into place.

What was even nicer, although Deborah would never admit it, was being able to put Flora and Dougie in the kitchen to eat their dinner, then flop onto the sofa with the phone to chat with Carolyn. It had been a while since they had seen her and Herc, but it sounded as if they were having fun.

 “I got your postcard.” Deborah remarked as she kicked her feet up onto the other end of the sofa, relaxing back into the cushions and pressing the phone to her ear with one hand, “I must admit, Carolyn, I never imagined you enjoying the toasty sands of a white beach in the blazing sun.”

“ _After years of keeping you lot in check, it has its appeal.”_ Carolyn replied, sounding particularly calm and cheerful; it was nice to know that she was having a good time, far away from them all, _“And a bar that’s open all hours of the day.”_

“Oh, I see.” Deborah drawled, feigning nonchalance as she stretched out, keeping an ear out for any fuss coming from the kitchen; as she exhaled and relaxed ever further, she found herself playing victim to the familiar niggle of discontent in the pit of her stomach, and couldn’t help but bring up the first thing that floated through her mind, “You’re coming home soon though…for good?”

“ _Are you starting to miss me again?”_ Carolyn inquired, snorting with humour that came much more easily when she had spent the day sipping alcohol and tanning on the beach with Herc; it was getting harder to pretend that it wouldn’t be nicer to have her on GERTI again, even if that would never happen again, _“Last time we were in Fitton, you told Herc he could go back to the mountains for all you cared.”_

“I may have been a bit harsh, all things considered…and he _did_ insult my chore routine.” Deborah admitted, pushing a hand through her hair and pursing her lips; old habits died hard and it would be wrong to let anyone think she had softened with time, “No…I was just wondering; after all, it’s been years since you spent more than a month in England.”

“ _I spent a whole year in England when my granddaughter was born.”_ Carolyn retorted, quite truthfully in fact; it was easy to forget these things when life was as busy as theirs, _“You spent most of it mocking me and calling me Grandma.”_

“Ah yes, those _were_ good times.” Deborah sighed, inspecting the nails on her free hand, “So you’re coming back in time for Flora’s birthday?”

“ _Of course I am.”_ Carolyn replied curtly, as if it was impossible to imagine that she would be anything but considerate and devoted to the children; it was very easy to imagine such a reality, but Deborah didn’t linger as Carolyn’s voice continued to sound in her ear, _“Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a Bloody Mary with my name on it.”_

“Alright then, you go and drown your old age in booze.” Deborah drawled, hoisting herself into a sitting position, free hand pressing into the cushions beneath her; from the corner of her eye she saw Dougie sidle into the room and head towards her, so she plastered on a smile, adopted a honeyed tone, bidding Carolyn goodbye, “Ta-ra – give my best to Hercules.”

“Was that Carolyn?” Dougie asked, reaching out to take the phone from his mother, an inquisitive light in his eyes; she let him take it from her, and watched fondly as he turned it over, looked at the screen, and nodded at Carolyn’s name. Then he placed the phone on the coffee table, the right way up and turned around to face her, winding his fingers together.

“Yes, sweetheart, it was.” Deborah told him, frowning in confusion as he nodded and shuffled his feet; she leaned forwards enough that she could hook her fingers underneath his elbows and pull him closer, then placed a finger under his chin to suggest that he look her in the eye, “Are you alright? You’ve been awfully quiet lately.”

“Yes, Mummy.” Dougie replied quietly, nodding his head and pushing a hand through his curls before turning and starting to walk away.

“Oi, Douglas, come here.” Deborah sighed, rising from the sofa long enough to pull him down onto it, positioning him beside her, back against the arm; enough time had passed that she was sick of watching her son walk around inside his own head, and she could only leave him alone before she started to worry, “Look at me, and tell me what’s wrong.”

“I…I’ve been thinking…don’t tell Daddy.” Dougie murmured, eyes wandering everywhere but Deborah’s face as he lifted his hand and chewed on his little finger; he didn’t need prompting to continue, but his fidgeting intensified, “I…I’ve been thinking about, about Flora’s clubs.”

“Flora’s clubs?” Deborah repeated, brow furrowing as she watched him struggle for words; it had been so long since they had arranged Flora’s attendance in _all_ of the school societies, just as she wished, that she had almost forgotten about them, “Do you want to join some as well?”

“Yes…mmmm…no…Some of them.” Dougie rolled the words over his tongue, blinking up at his mother through his pale eyes, innocently nervous as he played with his fingers, “I don’t know…I like some of things…lots of things…maybe.”

“Why did you say no when we asked you before?” Deborah asked, shuffling around so that she could watch him more closely, placing one hand over the both of his so that he could wrap his fingers around hers; perhaps letting their quiet child be quiet was a bad idea if it meant that he didn’t talk to them, “We could have signed you up for lots of clubs.”

“I-I won’t be good…might not be.” Dougie sighed, with all of the world-weariness that only a six year old could muster, “I don’t know if I’ll be good.”

“What makes you think that?” Deborah asked, then shook her head, cutting him off before he could reply, “Hold on – why don’t you want me to tell Daddy?”

“Daddy- he’s…he’s so good at things – Daddy’s a good Captain…he’s a…he’s cool, a cool….he can fly the plane.” Dougie explained, glancing out across the sitting room towards the various pictures that had gone up on display over the past few years; many of them featured both Deborah and Martin in their uniform, having been taken at the airfield by an excitable Arthur eager to snap the family together, “A-and you’re really good at everything…all the things…a-and Flora does everything.”

“Right, first of all, me.” Deborah sighed, turning until her knees were pressed against the soles of Dougie’s feet, taking both of his hands in her own, squeezing warmth into his cold little palms and doing her best not to be sarcastic or wry as the children had come to expect and understand, “I know that I’m good at most things, but that’s because I practice. I didn’t start good, I practised. And Flora…you know your sister…she’s not very good at anything.”

“She does so much.” Dougie argued, his voice going high as his head darted around to glance towards the kitchen; not that Deborah let him look away for too long, or argue his way out of a talking to.

“That’s because she _tries_.” Deborah informed him gently; there was no denying that Flora was inept, and she wasn’t going to try and deny it, because the last thing she wanted was for anyone to think that that was a bad thing…something that she had come to realise in the years that she had learned to love Martin, “The only reason Flora’s good at anything is because she tries, and if you don’t even try, you’ll never know if you’re good at things. Besides…you’re good at everything you do anyway.”

“What about Daddy?” Dougie sniffled, but he was nodding and narrowing his eyes at her as if he was starting to understand. It was no secret that Dougie worshipped his father; both of them did. But it would be awful, truly terrible, for them to worship him for anything less than his clumsy, awkward, ridiculous self.

“You know what, Dougie…when I met your father, he wasn’t good at anything, not even being a pilot.” Deborah explained, smiling as Dougie’s eyes blew wide and his mouth fell open; later, once Dougie had told Martin what he had heard, she was sure to get a thorough talking to, but for now it was nice to reminisce, “One time, he actually landed GERTI with the brakes on….she went clunk, clunk, clunk down the runway and I really thought we were going to die.”

“Really?” Dougie gasped, cheeks turning pink with elation as he gripped her hands tightly and rocked up onto his knees.

“Yes, really.” Deborah assured him, “And he couldn’t even talk to passengers properly without making them angry, and none of them thought he was the Captain…that actually still happens every now and again. Daddy…he’s amazing.” She paused and inhaled slowly, for once uncertain of how much of a difference she had actually made, “But Daddy wouldn’t be amazing if he hadn’t tried things over and over again…and neither would you.”

“Okay Mummy…” Dougie replied immediately, as polite as ever; it was possible to see the cogs turning behind his eyes, and Deborah sat on the edge of her seat, worrying that perhaps she hadn’t said the right thing, until he nodded quickly and asked, “Can I have a biscuit?”

Of course, she could only say yes and watch him scamper away to the kitchen with a smile on his face. In retrospect, Dougie was only six years old, and for all of his nerves and low self -esteem, he was easily distracted and often forgot what had been upsetting him in the first place. At least, Deborah supposed, she had exercised _some_ degree of parenting.

oOoOoOo

Some days were long, others were short, and the rest were a giddy mess of trying to balance work with recreation, entertaining the children on the weekends whilst simultaneously trying to balance accounts, network, and manage marketing. Which was why on a rainy Saturday, when MJN was officially on standby and Martin was helping out with the paperwork, despite a full week at Fast Jets UK, it was nice to let Arthur pick up the slack.

When the mood in the flight-deck became too entrenched in bills and paperwork, Deborah had left Martin to it and wandered through to the Galley, treading lightly so as not to the children hear her as she came to rest against the doorframe leading to the Cabin. The sight that she was met with was a lovely one, that let affectionate warmth settle in her chest as she wrapped her arms around herself, and watched with a smile on her face.

Arthur was standing in the middle of the aisle, arms outstretched, red sleeves pushed to his elbows, delivering little snippets of his safety announcement in his most professional tone of voice. Lined up in front of him were Flora, hair tied back above her smart but scuffed dress ensemble, Dougie, who was watching his movements avidly, and Arthur’s two year old daughter, Bobbie.

Bobbie was the spitting image of Arthur, with Sandra’s sharp features, but her father’s big brown eyes and dark hair, cut into a bob just below her ears; even the grin on her face could have been stolen from Arthur’s face. Even at two years old though, she was more like Carolyn than either of her parents, a fact that wasn’t at all helped by her tendency to follow Flora around as if the older girl was the wisest sage of them all.

All three children were mirroring Arthur’s posture, arms outstretched, heads tipped back to follow what he was saying.

“Alright now, this is how you do it.” Arthur explained, the absolute voice of authority in a room filled only with children, and only enough that he could keep an eye on all of them at once, “You stretch your arms out like this – you do remember where all the exits are don’t you?”

“Yep!” Flora trilled, rising up on the tips of her toes so that she could beam and throw out her arms in all directions, locating each exit with a practiced ease; she knew GERTI as well as she knew her own bedroom, probably better, as Martin wasn’t constantly tidying GERTI for her, “They’re there, and there, and there, and there. And the inflatable-”

“How about Dougie has a go?” Arthur interrupted kindly, making sure that Flora didn’t eclipse her brother as she was wont to do without even thinking about it; Deborah couldn’t help but smile fondly and sigh as Arthur clasped his hands together and pointed down at her son, “Dougie, where are the inflatable life vests?”

“Under the seats.” Dougie replied, bouncing on his heels as he gazed eagerly up at Arthur; his tone became more analytical as he fiddled with his hair and asked, “Do I need to point?”

“No, that’s okay – the passengers are silly sometimes, but they’re not that silly.” Arthur assured him, never losing his cheerful movement; then he clapped his hands together and addressed all three children, never minding that Bobbie was mostly just twirling and copying Flora’s movements, “Would you like to have a go at doing the demonstrations?”

“Will I have to remember all of the long speeches you make?” Flora inquired, striding without having to be told to the cupboard in the corner of the Galley so that she could retrieve that demonstration props; she was already well versed in the seatbelt, the inflatable vest, and the oxygen mask, “Because, they change every time you do them.”

“Nope, Flora, you don’t have to remember anything if you don’t want to.” Arthur promised, standing back as Bobbie took the seatbelt out of Flora’s arms and Flora dropped the mask and vest to the floor at his feet, “Dougie, are you doing the vest or the oxygen mask?”

“Can I do the vest please?” Dougie answered, creeping up to stand beside Arthur, pointing at the vest but not taking it as he tugged at the knee of Arthur’s trousers, “The mask’s too hard.”

“Of course you can do the vest.” Arthur beamed, bending down and plucking the vest from the floor, turning as he did so to face Dougie and show him where to put his head and arms, “Just like this.”

“I’ve done the mask, look.” Flora announced, drawing Arthur’s attention to where she had pulled the mask over her face and was waggling her arms in the air; it was lovely to see her so proud of herself, so _capable_ in a way that she wasn’t at most of her other endeavours, “Is this good?”

“That’s perfect.” Arthur applauded, then his eyes fell on his daughter, as she pulled the seatbelt around her shoulders and over her head, in trouble of wrapping it around her neck, “Oh, Bobbie – don’t do that.” He had taken the seatbelt off of her shoulders in a flash, good mood never faltering, so Bobbie had no reason to worry, “Flora, can you come and help Bobbie with the seatbelt while I help Dougie with the vest.”

Deborah kept quiet as she watched the four of them navigate around the props, muttering amongst themselves. It was moments like these that made her realise just how good she had it…along with the wonderfully fulfilled simmering flutter that lit up her lungs and made air feel that much better when she inhaled.

“What’s Arthur doing with the children?” Martin appeared at her shoulder, leaning in and curling an arm around her waist as he peered into the Cabin. His hat was gone, as was his jacket, so he must have actually gotten bored waiting for her.

“He’s showing them the flight attendant ropes.” Deborah explained, lowering her voice so that she wouldn’t disturb them, turning her head so that her lips brushed against Martin’s ear; it really was a good day, a wonderful one in fact, “I think he might actually have found his perfect audience.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Martin remarked, leaning into her side; then he jolted as if in realisation, clearing his throat and leaning back so that he could look her in the eye, eyes narrowing suspiciously, “They’re not actually going to do the safety announcements on _real_ flights, are they? B-because that would be completely inappropriate, a-and unsafe, and the CAA-”

“Do you ever worry about them?” Deborah cut him off, raising her hand to stop him in his tracks as she shifted in his embrace; for every rush of affection and comfort, there was always that prickle of doubt, and she could still hear Dougie murmuring self-deprecatingly in the back of her mind, “I mean, about what’s going to happen to them?”

“What do you mean?” Martin retorted, scrunching his nose up in confusion, which only served to make the freckles on his cheeks all the more stark, easy to see where their children picked up the habit; he motioned into the Cabin towards them, “They’re happy aren’t they?”

“Yes, they’re happy, but…” Deborah didn’t know how she could express her worries without sounding wrong, but there was no way that she could keep them from Martin if she wanted to remain sane; all that she could do was shrug her shoulders helplessly and try not to feel too guilty, “Flora’s completely inept, and Dougie hasn’t got the self-confidence to actually _do_ anything….it’s like we can’t win.”

“I see what you mean.” Martin acknowledged grimly, which was a good sign all things considered; he let out a long sigh and curled his fingers into the material at Deborah’s waist, gazing out at the children as they whirled around under Arthur’s instruction, “Look, Deborah…I love our kids.”

“Yes, I’d hope that you did.” Deborah replied wryly, quirking an eyebrow at him as she turned to watch him over her shoulder, “What with all the trouble we went through to get to this point.”

“Yes – I-I know, you know what I mean.” Martin shook his head and pinched her waist a little too tightly, making her scoff as he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth, “I mean…I love them, and…you know…I have faith in them. I know everything looks a bit hopeless now, but…it’ll work out?”

“You don’t sound too confident about that.” Deborah noted, lifting her hands to slip them over Martin’s wrists, holding on tightly, with just enough pressure that she could anchor herself without hurting him.

“I’m not.” Martin replied sheepishly, sniffing in the way that he did when he was trying to enforce his will without any faith in his ability to do so; it was a pleasant familiarity, “But, then again, I-I-I don’t think my Dad was too confident in _me_ , and…here I am.”

oOoOoOo

It was ridiculous really, absolutely ridiculous. Deborah had no idea what was going on, but the last thing she had expected when she went for an early shower was to come out and find a completely silent house. No children chasing each other up and down the stairs like a herd of elephants while Martin shouted at them to walk. No screaming or blaring of the garish shows on the television…absolute silence…save for a faint murmur which sounded oddly like one of her old CDs.

“Martin? Martin!” Deborah called as she walked down the stairs, slowly with her hands on the bannister, peering through the railing in case the children were hiding from her, ready to leap out at the drop of a hat, “Martin, where are you?”

“I’m in here – just – just hold on a moment.” Martin’s voice hollered out from the sitting room, from which she could just about see a warm glow that definitely didn’t come from the overhead lights; if she wasn’t mistaken, the air actually smelt like their fine candles and sweet cooking, “I’ll be right through – j-just stay where you are.”

“Where are the children?” Deborah asked, ignoring him and striding into the sitting room just as he disappeared into the kitchen; her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the room light in a warm glow, fans of light pouring from candles that he had lined on the mantle, beside the stereo, along with rows of flowers and elderflower water all along the coffee table…so she carried on as she had been, placing her hands on her waist, “ _Martin_ , I was in the shower for _ten minutes_ ; don’t tell me you’ve lost the children.”

“No, I had Sandra come and pick them up.” Martin informed her briefly, “They’re having a sleepover with Bobbie and ‘Granny Carolyn’ – oh, I told you to stay where you were.”

He strode from the kitchen with a pair of wine glasses in each hand, which he proceeded to place on the table before straightening out; he actually looked… _very_ good, in jeans and his smartest shirt, the top button open, his hair nicely ruffled. Martin had even placed his Captain’s hat askew atop his head, the most pressing sign that he was in a _very good_ mood. Deborah couldn’t keep the smile from her lips as he grinned wickedly at her, opening his arms as if to display his efforts, making something hot flutter in her chest.

“And I dutifully ignored you.” Deborah drawled, running her eyes from his toes to his nose as she fought the temptation to say something else, winding her arms around herself to refrain from reaching out, “You’re looking very… _good_ …what’s this in aid of?”

“Romance!” Martin exclaimed, bridging the gap between them to place his hand at her elbows, stroking gently before stepping back again, so obviously proud of himself, “I figured the only way to surprise you was to pick a random day.”

“Well…I’m definitely surprised.” Deborah reported, nodding with amusement as she made a show of taking in his efforts, tracing her fingers through the flowered on the table; the whole thing made her wish she was wearing anything other than her old pyjamas, but then again…Martin had done a good job at surprising her.

“Good.” Martin beamed, then his eyes narrowed and his cheeks flushed, and he was overcome with the wicked, mischievous glint that she loved so much; his voice lowered into a more confident, charming tenor as he came close again, whipping his arms around her and sweeping her into his arms, “Come here!”

“ _Martin!”_ Deborah would later be ashamed to say that she squealed as Martin swept her feet from the ground and lifted her, bridal style, into his arms, grunting slightly with the effort, but ultimately making the most of his hard earned strength; it _was_ rather nice to be supported against the warmth of his chest while his heart thudded underneath his shirt, especially when Martin smirked and cocked his head just so, making his hat tip in the opposite direction, “Well, hello _Captain_.”

“Hello First Officer.” Martin murmured, tipping his head down so that she could press his lips to hers, chuckling against her mouth as Deborah reached up and plucked the hat from his head, placing it upon her own; when he pulled away, his cheeks were scarlet, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, “Shall we…um, ehem- I uh…um…”

“Oh, shush.” Deborah lightly scolded him, and with that she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down for another kiss, relishing the sensation of their lips moving against each other, his cheek hot against hers as his arms tightened around her, keeping her above the ground.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Even after all those years, there was still nothing better than sending GERTI into a swift incline and breaching the lower layer of fluffy clouds, feeling the pressure swoop and relishing the fact that one was in control of a mighty aircraft, miles above the rest of the world. The dials and switches slipped beneath her fingers with ease, their presence taken for granted, the sticking and jarring and tendency to fall off accounted for by a practiced familiarity.

This was something that Deborah would never ever get over, no matter how many years she clocked.

“Post-take of checks complete, Captain.” Deborah announced, finishing up with a flourishing flick of her wrist and turned her head to beam at the Captain’s seat, drawling proudly; it had been a good day and there was nothing that could puncture her good mood, especially with such good company, “Are you sure of the calculations, or would you like to take another look at them?”

“I think they’re okay.” Dougie replied, biting his lip and peering down at the book that Martin had always used to jot down pre-flight calculations; he was having the time of his life, propped up in the Captain’s seat with Martin’s Captain’s hat on his head, playing the part with a seriousness that only an eight-year-old could, “If the weather changes you’ll have to help me though.”

“It would be my pleasure, Dougie.” Deborah drawled, tipping her hat before she settled back in her seat and crossed one leg over the other; it really was the good life, the most fun she had on board without Martin, now that the children were old enough to play properly, “What’s the next thing we need to do?”

“Start a word game.” Dougie answered, eyes widening with excitement; the hat jostled atop his dark curls, covering his eyes and making him giggle as he reached up to push it back, carefully placing the book onto the arm of the seat, “An easy one though – one that I can do.”

“A word game _would_ be a good idea, but there’s one more thing we need to do first.” Deborah reminded him, raising one finger as a cue; when Dougie just blinked at her, mouth falling open, and the sound of the engines were the only sound vibrating through the flight-deck, she pointed down at the control panel, “Something very important.”

“The Cabin address!” Dougie squealed, jumping in his seat, hands wringing on the arms as he grinned up at her; his freckled cheeks flushed red, as he waggled his feet, hanging as they were above the floor, “Oh, do Disney – please!”

“Challenge accepted.” Deborah remarked, making a show of straightening her jacket as she reached out and held down the intercom button, clearing her throat and meeting Dougie’s gaze before speaking; she could never miss a chance to show off, “This is First Officer Crieff speaking, welcoming our guests onto this MJN flight to Sardinia.”

Their passengers were a group of young businesswomen, rallying for some sort of demonstration or convention. They had been lured in by some of MJN’s tricky advertising. They had been drunk when they had boarded the plane, so there was no harm in having some fun.

“Part of our package is of course that on every flight we like to go the distance and take you to a whole new world of adventure. It's a small world after all, and today we'll be flying over Paris, so, listen closely in case you can hear the bells of Notre Dame ringing down below, or perhaps simply enjoy the colours of the wind as we rise through the thin layer of cloud over Europe.” Deborah smirked as Dougie giggled into his curled palms, “Our steward, Arthur Shappey, should have given you the safety demonstrations, informing you of what to do should the aircraft end up under the sea, however, as that is unlikely to occur on this flight, feel free to let it go. On behalf of all of our staff, I'd like to thank you again for flying MJN Air, and for allowing us to be a fleeting part of your world.”

With that, Deborah turned off the intercom and cut off the intermittent crackle, listening for the ever present bing-bong that chirped in its wake.

“Wow; that was amazing.” Dougie exclaimed, clapping his hands together and swinging his feet into the air, unsettling the hat atop his head with every giddy movement; he was ever so easily impressed by everything that either of his parents did, wonderfully easy to please, “I think that was seven.”

“Only seven?” Deborah remarked, pursing her lips as she settled back and relaxed, turning her eyes back to the sky and adjusting their speed; she tried not to let disappointment emerge at the realisation that she was losing her touch, “Well, sweetheart, that’s what happens as you get older…you start slipping.”

“It was still amazing.” Dougie assured her, glowing with childlike wonder. He was normally rather sedate on flights, but with only a week before he was back to school, both of the children were dizzy with excitement, burning off all of the energy that they hadn’t wasted when they had actually had the time.

“Thank you.” Deborah replied, letting a warm smile spread from her face through her chest as she watched her son shuffle about and trace his fingers around the gold braid of his hat; there was no time for lingering though, as they _were_ technically on a job, “Would you be a dear and ding the service bell?”

Dougie did as he was told without a second thought, pressing the button and then sitting back with a satisfied smile on his face. A moment later, the door swung open with a clang as Arthur crowded into the room.

“Hello chaps.” Arthur declared, smiling indulgently down at Dougie as he reached over the back of the Captain’s seat and tipped the hat back to its proper position; leaning on the back of the seat, arms folded, Arthur turned to Deborah and remarked, “That was a brilliant announcement.”

“Thank you Arthur.” Deborah replied, glancing over the back of her seat towards the rear end of the flight-deck, past the jump-seat and into the Galley; she couldn’t see a thing, but there was no mistaking the clumsy clack of cheap rubber soles on the even cheaper plane floor, “Where’s your protégée?”

“I’m here – and I’m not a protégée, I’m a proper stewardess.” Flora’s shrill but curt answer rang out through the flight-deck only moments before she appeared, stumbling around the jump-seat until she was standing at Arthur’s side, hands on her hips, blinking across the gap between the seats, “I just haven’t got the outfit yet.”

“You can’t be a stewardess, you’re only eleven.” Dougie informed her, without a shred of anything but honest disappointment as his hands wandered up to secure the hat atop his head, and he turned in his seat to prop himself up on his knees, “The passengers don’t even know you’re here.”

“They will know when I’m working on a proper plane.” Flora retorted, flouncing and taking the skirt of her dress between her fingers as she rocked on her heels and pursed her lips, managing to look coolly indignant. The only time she got to really play stewardess with real passengers was during the week, when Martin was at work, and even then she was limited to the Galley and the flight-deck.

“GERTI is a proper plane.” Arthur interjected, frowning as he blinked down at her, turning where he was leaning against Dougie’s seat, one hand in his pocket. They had only been in the air a short while, but he was already wearing all the marks of a man put through his paces by their excitable clients and the child in his care; sleeves pushed up to his elbows, sweat on his brow, it had been a long twenty minutes.

“Yeah, obviously.” Flora amended dismissively, waving her hand through the air and puffing out her chest with an abundance of misplaced pride in herself; it was impossible not to embrace the flutter of affection that the sight produced though, not matter how annoying it was that of all Martin’s bad habits, that was the one she had acquired, “Now, let me do my piece.”

“Go on then, Flora.” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes as she turned her head so that only Dougie could see the movement as she reached above her head and flicked a switch. He stifled a giggle into his hands and she held back a smirk so that Flora wouldn’t pout and refuse to play.

“Alright, _chaps_.” Flora announced, using her palms to push back the mass of ginger curls that behind her shoulders, arcing her arms into the air at her sides and tipping her nose up, adopting Arthur’s smile and Martin’s prim tone of voice as she addressed the two of them, “Would you like teas or coffees?”

“I don’t like tea or coffee.” Dougie murmured, scrunching up his nose as he curled his hands over the back of the seat.

“Arthur can make teas or coffees.” Flora repeated, pressing the tips of her fingers together and staring him down politely; she met her mother’s eye, but Deborah kept her mouth shut, “Would you like _teas_ or _coffees_?”

“I can make juice as well; there’s all sorts of drinks in the Galley, but they’re mostly alcoholic and you can’t have them, but there’s definitely juice as well, which you can have.” Arthur cut in, quickly, before Dougie could do more than scowl and tip his hat to the back of his head; he put a hand on Flora’s shoulder to stop her from starting a fight, and addressed Deborah, “And your usual, Deborah?”

“Yes please, Arthur. That would be lovely.” Deborah answered, keeping one eye on Flora as she monitored the controls, watching as he nodded and made his way out of the flight-deck; she waited until Flora had sighed and flopped into the jump-seat before clearing her throat and asking, “You’re enjoying yourself then? Still absolutely sure you want to be a stewardess?”

“Absolutely sure.” Flora assured her, sliding down and kicking her legs over one arm of her seat as she inspected her nails, “I know they won’t do lessons for it at big school, but I think if I just do really well in everything, the school for stewardessing won’t be able to turn me down.”

Flora was as optimistic as she had ever been. When she had realised that she wasn’t capable of doing the calculations for piloting, and that her spatial awareness was as far from perfect as it was possible to get, she had immediately decided that she could do the next best thing. Not quite the try and try again mantra that Martin was a fan of, but Deborah had to admit, their daughter was resourceful.

“There’s no stewardessing school.” Dougie remarked blithely, still peering over the top of his seat with his back to the sky, high pitched and irritable over the hum of the engines, “Schools only teach things like Maths and English.”

“Of course there’s a stewardessing school!” Flora insisted, flushing indignantly as she glared at him.

“Come on, you two, don’t start.” Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall closed for only a moment so that she could keep watching the skies, monitoring their speed; the flight-deck was never a good place for bickering, and it was only now that she wasn’t the one winning that Deborah realised how much respect Carolyn deserved, “Your father’s meeting us in Sardinia, so I expect you both on your best behaviour.”

“I’m _always_ on my best behaviour.” Flora retorted smartly.

“No, you’re not!” Dougie squawked, scowling at his sister.

“I _will_ turn this plane around.” Deborah raised her voice when she heard Flora snort and take a breath; she knew how this went: Flora made a smart and drawling remark, Dougie got annoyed and sniped back at her, and she got a headache, “Don’t think that I won’t.”

oOoOoOo

Things had calmed down by the time they reached Sardinia, and while Arthur mopped up the havoc left behind on GERTI, Deborah led the children on a slow march through the airport to make sure that they really were calm. Mercifully, she didn’t have to listen to them for long, as Martin was exactly where he said he would be.

He was surrounded by some other pilots, but when he spotted them he straightened up and dismissed them with a nod of his head and a sweep of his hand. That wasn’t the remarkable part; Martin had always been the authoritarian. What was remarkable was the fact that his colleagues left without argument, one of them even tipping his hat as they departed.

“Daddy!”

“Daddy!”

Flora and Dougie barrelled across the airport before Deborah could stop them, beaming and leaping into Martin’s outstretched arms with such a force that he was bent double, stumbling backwards and only just staying on his feet. The resulting noise was enough to make the small crowds around them dissipate as if they were radioactive.

“Argh, hello you two.” Martin groaned, setting them back on their feet, stroking a hand through Flora’s hair as he steadied Dougie with a hand on his shoulder; he offered Deborah a warm smile over their heads, before plucking his Captain’s hat from Dougie’s head and holding it up for inspection in front of his eyes, scrunching up his nose, “What is _this?”_

“It’s your MJN hat.” Dougie answered, hopping on his heels as Martin rose to his full height; he accepted the hat and placed it back on top of his head, grinning a toothy grin that displayed the noticeable gap, “I was the Captain on the flight today, but Mummy didn’t tell the passengers that I was.”

“I was the secret stewardess.” Flora chipped in, tucking her hands behind her back and batting her eyelashes as Martin’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline and he stared between the two of them. Neither of them seemed to realise that their father wasn’t as pleased with them as they were.

“Oh, that’s nice.” Martin replied, a hand on each of their shoulders as they hugged him again, arms around his waist, but he was staring at Deborah as she stood back and watched; the look on his face was a marvellous balancing act under threat of losing the stiff grimace and revealing his panicked disapproval, “I-isn’t that nice Deborah? Very _professional_ of you.”

“Very nice, Martin.” Deborah remarked, folding her arms and watching the children back off, letting Martin alone as they descended into hushed whispers; he wouldn’t kick up a fuss in a crowded airport in front of the kids…she didn’t think, but it wouldn’t hurt to distract him, “That looked very formal.”

“Y-you mean that – back there?” Martin asked, gesturing over his shoulder and blushing at the space where his colleagues weren’t any more; it was enough to have him flustering and keep his mind off of her, “Yes, it was – I’m one of the best pilots they’ve got, so obviously they all look up to me.”

“Not Chief Pilot though?” Deborah remarked, quirking an eyebrow and smirking as he adjusted the stripes on his sleeve. She couldn’t help but tease him after a day of listening to endless bickering.

“No.” Martin replied curtly, ducking his head and avoiding her gaze, “N-not yet.”

“Oh, come here.” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes and opening her arms and stepping towards him; she pulled her arm around Martin’s shoulders before he could protest, letting him hug back as she exhaled slowly and murmured in his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “I’ve missed you since this morning.”

“I’ve missed you too, dear.” Martin hummed, returning the gesture, squeezing tightly around her waist and tucking her head beneath his chin for just a second so that he could kiss the top of her head; he didn’t pull back until the children made disgusted noises, but even then he didn’t take his arm from around her, keeping them pressed together, “I take it you’re flying out before it gets dark?”

Deborah didn’t have time to do more than nod and rest her head on Martin’s shoulder before heavy footsteps grew sounded out across the airport.

“Hey Skip!” Arthur called out, waving cheerfully when the two of them turned to face him; he was less ruffled than he had been on the flight, apparently having forgotten how difficult their clients had been to control, and he sidled up to them without a trace of exhaustion or aggravation, “When did you get here?”

“Not long ago – I-I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.” Martin replied pointedly, tugging at Deborah’s waist as he glanced back to where the kids were pretending to be a Captain and a stewardess perusing the airport; he was only distracted for a moment, to Deborah’s despair, “I thought you’d be here before me.”

“Apparently we had to go around a thunderstorm.” Arthur informed him, before Deborah had time to interject and come up with a good excuse; that was the excuse that she had given the clients over the intercom, in the hope that they would be too drunk to notice the odd dips and changes in turbulence as anything more than what they had been labelled, “But actually, now that I think about it, I don’t remember any storms.”

“Yes, well, never mind that.” Deborah exclaimed, slipping out of Martin’s grasp and motioning for the children to come over; she ignored the furrowing of Martin’s brow and plastered on a smile and clapped her hands together, adopting an airy tone, “Let’s go and find a nice café to sit in. Chocolate cake for all?”

“Deborah…” Martin trailed off as he watched her usher Flora and Dougie into Arthur’s waiting arms; he didn’t make a move to follow, tugging at the lapels of his jacket as he glared suspiciously at her, “Why did it take you so long to get here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Deborah shook her head, pursing her lips and folding her arms, turning on her heel whilst still facing him in an attempt to encourage him. The last thing she needed was Martin nagging her, but there was no denying that she probably…needed nagging; she had known when she was doing it that he would disapprove.

Martin followed, hands in pockets, but he didn’t let the matter lie.

“It’s not like you let Dougie fly, is it?” Martin snorted as his arm brushed against hers; there was a moment of silence, in which Deborah bit her lip and stared at the floor disappearing beneath their feet, and then Martin stumbled, eyes blowing wide with horror as his mouth fell open, “You didn’t let him fly?”

It wasn’t so bad…it had only been for a moment. Or two…or three. She had been there the _entire_ time.

“You know me, darling.” Deborah assured him, hastening her step and shrugging, exuding nonchalance, “I’d never do anything so ridiculous.”

“Oh god – _Deborah_!”

oOoOoOo

It had been a long time since the whole family had had to dress up, but Deborah hadn’t missed the fuss one bit. When one was single and childless, it was fun, but with a husband and two kids thundering around and a grown up daughter arriving at any minute, it would have been much easier to dress them all up in plastic bags and just kick them out the door. It was a relief when Martin actually stopped fussing long enough to answer the door and let Verity in.

“Hello Martin.” Verity’s voice carried through the hall as the front door clicked shut, and Deborah wandered in from the sitting room just as Martin was seeing her in; she was a sight for sore eyes, absolutely stunning in ways that Deborah knew she never had been, one bag hooked over her arm and draped in a gorgeous dress, her dark hair shining and falling in waves around her shoulders as she grinned, “You’re looking very smart.”

“I could say the same about you.” Martin chuckled as Verity threw her arms around him for a brief hug, ignoring the fact that it upset the neat lines of his suit; he tried to take the bag from her but she kept hold of it, “It’s good to see you.”

“Thanks.” Verity replied, then turned away from him to beam at Deborah, striding across the room then passing her by completely, coming to stand at the end of the stairs, “Hi Mum; I’m just going to drop the kids’ presents off in your bedroom.”

“Alright dear, but give me a hug first.” Deborah instructed, finishing wrapping a silk scarf around her neck as Martin hurried back to the sitting room behind her; when Verity allowed the embrace then stepped back, she sighed and placed her hands on her daughter’s arms so that she could inspect her properly, “You look wonderful; you _do_ realise that this is only a party for Carolyn, not a night out.”

“It’s also making up for you missing my twenty-fifth.” Verity amended, without a trace of bad feeling, as she took one more step up the stairs, obviously itching to escape with the bag of treats that she had brought with her.

“You were on holiday on your twenty-fifth.” Deborah reminded her, talking to Verity’s back as she walked up the stairs in earnest; she raised her voice with a smirk as her daughter shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, recalling Chris’ irritable grumbles, “I had your father whining about it down the phone.”

Verity didn’t respond but disappeared into the upstairs hall. A moment later, Martin was at Deborah’s side, shouting up the stairs, his hair still out of place despite all of his best efforts and his cheeks ruddy with frustrated exertion. It would have been funny to watch had they not actually been late for an event that they had helped Arthur plan.

“Flora, Douglas, get down here now!” Martin yelled, straightening his tie and shooting Deborah an impatient glare that she supposed she was supposed to relate to; he lowered his voice into an irritable mutter, shaking his head in despair and running a hand over his face, “It’s been three hours and they’re still not ready to go.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have made them get ready three hours ago.” Deborah remarked, adjusting her dress as she turned on her heel and wandered back through to the kitchen, where she had left her gift for Carolyn, nicely bagged up and ready to go; she heard Martin’s footfalls behind her, felt him brush past her, snaking a hand over her lower back as he reached across the sink for a glass, so she kept talking, “It does tend to slow them down a bit.”

“Arthur and Herc have been planning this for weeks, the kids have spent the past few days baking cakes – how can they possibly not be ready to go half an hour before we need to be there?” Martin demanded under his breath as his prepared a glass of water and knocked it back as if it were something stronger, pushing a hand through his hair and ruining all of his good work, “It’s as if they inherited all your worst bits.”

“Excuse me.” Deborah retorted, turning her back on the counter and staring him down with a glare that was only partly charged with indignation; she folded her arms and leaned back, holding her head high, “I’m always on time.”

“You have never been on time in all the years I’ve known you.” Martin scoffed, abandoning his glass and fixing her with a wicked glare from underneath his lashes as he moved to shakily button his cuffs; it was impossible not to find the sight charming when he was dolled up as much as he was, determined to look his best, “We wouldn’t have fought so much if you had ever _been_ on _time_.”

That was a perfect moment to reach out and pull Martin to her and do _something_ fun, and Martin clearly knew it too if the way that he was looking at her was any indication; for such a perfectionist, he was easily swayed. However, that was also the moment that Verity strode into the room, Dougie hot on her heels, wearing his smartest jumper and one of Martin’s ties.

“If we’re leaving now, I’d like to drive.” Verity remarked, darting immediately for Deborah’s handbag and rooting through, retrieving the car keys in a matter of seconds; she gave them a waggle, looking back down to Dougie before Deborah or Martin had time to say a word, “It’s been ages since I was behind the wheel.”

“I’ll show you where Daddy puts all the bits and pieces in the car.” Dougie told her, reaching up and taking her hand, pulling her towards the sitting room, glancing up at Deborah; when she nodded her assent, he carried on but didn’t leave the room, “He likes doing it by the book.”

“Is that so?” Verity inquired, bending slightly so that she was level with him; her eyes flickered towards her mother and her lips curled into a smirk, but she was otherwise perfectly cool, “Tell me Dougie, does Mum still have that purple Lexus?”

“No, she sold that when her Granny gave them the sports-car.” Dougie answered, biting his lip as he looked towards his parents and stifled a bashful smile, still tugging ever so slightly on Verity’s hand to encourage her to move. They barely made it out of the room before Martin was chasing after them.

“Hold on, hold on – wait for me.” Martin interrupted, his voice carrying all the way back to the kitchen even as Deborah heard the front door open and the crunch of little feet on the gravel outside, “You’re not touching my car until I’ve showed you e-exactly where everything is.”

“Mum, Verity’s dress is so beautiful.” Flora popped up at Deborah’s elbow without warning, hooking her hands around her mother’s arm and swinging up onto her tiptoes, swaying so that her dress fanned out around her; she was wearing her sweetest expression, one that almost never had a grounding in genuine affection, “Can I have dresses like that?”

“We can’t afford dresses like that.” Deborah replied simply, standing up straight and plucking her bag from the counter, taking Carolyn’s gifts in the other; after a moment’s thought, she added, “As a matter of fact, neither can Verity.”

“Then where did they come from?” Flora asked, blinking up at her, brow furrowed in confusion as she followed Deborah around the kitchen, whirling as she went. She had a tendency to get under one’s feet and now was no exception; thankfully, Deborah was well versed in dodging.

“Your sister’s developed a talent for acquiring goods via other means.” Deborah drawled, quirking her eyebrows at her and plastering on a smile; she couldn’t say whether she was pleased or not that Verity had learnt how to play the world to her advantage so soon, “You’d be amazed what people will give when they’re being charmed.”

oOoOoOo

Hercules had done a real job brightening up Carolyn’s house in the years that he had lived there, even more so in the light of an impending celebration. If Deborah wasn’t mistaken, Arthur and Bobbie had added their own tinselly touch to the decorations. There wasn’t time to think about that though, as the moment that Martin was through the door and the kids were all over Carolyn, Deborah ducked into the lounge, grabbed Herc by the arm, and led him into the kitchen.

“Hercules, a word please.” Deborah whispered, releasing and placing her bags onto the counters and turning to address him, doing her best to pretend that she wasn’t hating every moment of relying upon him to cushion her self-doubt; she was too old to be slapping his smug face, “It’s very important.”

“Shall I hazard a guess and assume that it’s something to do with those giant bags you’ve been lugging around since you arrived?” Herc inquired, hooking his hands behind his back and peering around her to inspect the bags; it was infuriating, “I’ll be impressed if it’s not.”

“Yes, yes, now work with me.” Deborah muttered, striding past him, bumping him with her elbow as she gripped the door frame and peered around out of the kitchen to where the others were gathered; she could close the door and get more privacy, “Quickly, while the children are providing the perfect distraction.”

“What are you two up to?” Sandra appeared just as Deborah was pulling the door shut, ducking inside just as it slammed.

“Join us in collusion or go away.” Deborah snapped, returning to the counter, to the bags full to the brim and so heavy that her arms were aching from carrying them from the car; years of working for MJN, she needed this to be a success, to make up for…to account for everything that had happened without being soppy, or actually apologising, “This is supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh that’s charming that is.” Sandra snorted, ignoring her warning and sauntering to perch on the edge of the counter, prodding at the bags nearest her, twiddling with her hair as she went, “What’s in the bag?”

“It can’t be any worse than the things she’d sneak onto the plane when she was younger.” Herc remarked, extremely unhelpfully, as he too came to stand beside Deborah, hands in pockets, completely unperturbed by her agitation; it would be just like him to spill all of her deep dark secrets and dredge up the past without a second thought.

“You used to work together?” Sandra asked, eyebrows rising in surprise as she watched Deborah unpack the bags, lining them up and spreading out the contents into neat rows. Deborah could have stopped her there, but she couldn’t be bothered; not worth her time.

“Yes, those were the days.” Herc mused smarmily, a detestable, truly detestable smile lightening his expression; oh, and once upon a time she had thought about showing him mercy, well not anymore, he hadn’t changed a bit, “Deborah liked to think herself something of a skygod, but most of the lads would have sold her out without a second thought – the reckless showing off didn’t win her many friends.”

“They _did_ sell me out.” Deborah retorted, flicking her hair back as she stood to her full height, glaring at Herc and regretting ever having asked for his help; they were running out of time and Carolyn only waited so long before storming in to demand to know what was keeping them, “I lost my job at Air England because they _sold me out_.”

“In all fairness, you _were_ smuggling.” Herc replied dryly, eyeing the contents of the bags through narrowed eyes, although that didn’t dampen his mockery, “You can hardly blame anyone else for your ego overtaking your common sense.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve learnt my lesson a thousand times over.” Deborah muttered, rolling her eyes and inhaling slowly, measuring her mood; reasserting her smile, she swept her arm through the air and arced it gracefully in front of her gift, “Now – on the subject of smuggling…what do you think of Carolyn’s gift?”

“Oh, well…it’s interesting.” Herc remarked, taking one of the many objects from the counter and raising it for Sandra to inspect, tipping it this way and that to listen to the liquid slosh within its walls; his expression was unreadable, “All the bottles of Talisker you’ve ever stolen from her.”

It was a nice idea, of that Deborah was sure. Every bottle that she had kept stashed in the house where Martin couldn’t find them. Carolyn would be very pleased.

“I think it’s rather nice actually.” Deborah drawled, settling back against the counter, then reaching out and snatching the bottle from Herc’s hand, slamming it down onto the counter with perhaps a tad more force than was necessary; everyone else might have been moving on, but she most certainly wasn’t, “A charming little piece of nostalgia.”

“I’m a bit lost.” Sandra interjected, clearing her throat and uncurling her hand against her chin, gesturing towards the bottles without actually touching them; she was always good like that, respecting boundaries unlike _some_ ex-pilots that Deborah could speak of, “Where’d you get all the whiskey from?”

“Carolyn bought it to give to a boring and very rude old millionaire, and I acquired it.” Deborah explained, smirking at the memory of it, all the fun that they had had; there was no more Mr Birling, not in years, but she supposed that it was better they didn’t have that sort of problem to worry about, “It was an MJN tradition.”

“That’s not what _she_ said.” Herc retorted, rolling his eyes and glancing towards the kitchen door as the children’s voices hollered through it, “I came to understand that it wasn’t a tradition at all.”

“Nonsense….” Deborah brushed him off, batting a hand through the air before turning to her bottles and fiddling, pushing them closer together; her breath faltering, she looked between Sandra and Herc, the only two people who spent more time with Carolyn than she did, “Do you think she’ll like it?”

“I’m sure she’ll love it.” Herc replied smoothly, and for once Deborah assumed that he was being honest.

oOoOoOo

“So, I always forget.” Herc remarked, standing where he was in the doorway between the hall and the lounge with a glass of whiskey in his hand as he addressed Verity; he did seem genuinely interested, so Deborah kept her mouth shut as she approached them, “What is it you’re doing now?”

“I’m training at the moment.” Verity replied proudly, practically preening under the attention that she was being given as she leaned back against the doorframe; she deserved to be so as her career was her most valued achievement, far more stable and sensible than Deborah’s ever had been, without a single one of her mistakes, “Long story short, the endgame is a career in criminal forensics.”

“That’s nice.” Herc responded, nodding appropriately, as always perfectly cool and polite in conversation, although there was a certain light in his eyes that was pleasing, demonstrating his horror at the entire concept. Deborah could have hugged her daughter for inadvertently wobbling his weak disposition.

“It’s not detective, but it’s damn close.” Verity continued, oblivious to the way that Herc blanched at her next words, “More gory by far.”

“You can stay here and chat if you like.” Deborah interjected as strode to Verity’s side, hooking an arm through hers and offering Herc a falsely sympathetic smile, “The rest of us were thinking of sitting down for cake.”

“Oooh, yes, sign me up for some cake.” Verity exclaimed, sighing and letting her eyes gall closed; then she lifted her head and peered across the room, scuttling out of Deborah’s embrace and across the room before either of them could stop her, “Where’s the kids’ table – I’m going to sit with them.”

Deborah met Herc’s gaze and rolled her eyes, but didn’t say a word as she followed Verity only half way across the room, to where Martin and Sandra were sitting with Carolyn, all of them sipping their drinks and chatting good-naturedly. There was a wonderful sense of calm that had settled over the entire house, and Deborah couldn’t help but bask in it as she lowered herself onto the sofa beside Martin, draping her arm over the back, behind his shoulders.

“I don’t know what to say.” Carolyn mused, draining her glass and trailing her free hand through the air to encompass all of them, waving away the hand that Herc placed on her shoulder, “Thank you all for being here, I suppose.”

“It’s our pleasure, Carolyn.” Martin slurred slightly, smiling through the warm glow that had settled on his face as he leaned into Deborah’s side; he was nicely flushed, biting his lip, utterly relaxed, “B-besides, we’ve missed so many of your birthdays, we might as well celebrate the big one.”

“The _big one_?” Carolyn repeated, eyes severe for only a moment before she nodded sagely and sighed, “Yes, well…I suppose it _is_ time to accept that I might be a…little old lady after all.”

“Nonsense.” Deborah retorted, shaking her head and raising her eyebrows in denial; there was only so much dreary rumination that she could allow, “I’ve met little old ladies and I can assure you, you’re nothing like any of them. There isn’t a single boiled sweet in your handbag.”

“Although it’s fascinating to know that you’ve been rooting through Carolyn’s handbag.” Herc remarked, earning a collaborative hum from Martin, although to Deborah’s relief, everybody else ignored him.

“False flattery will get you nowhere Deborah.” Carolyn scoffed, without any sense of apathy, only the irritable mirth that only she could master; raising her empty glass, she waved it in the air, letting it catch the light and glint demandingly, “Although, another glass of Talisker will get you miles.”

“Of course.” Deborah drawled, rising from her perch to pluck the half-empty bottle of Talisker from the coffee table and pouring another glass; she plastered on her most charming smile as she retreated, holding Carolyn’s gaze, “Happy Eightieth birthday, Carolyn.”

“Thank you.” Carolyn replied, sitting back and taking a long sip, groaning in pleasure; then she let out a low exhale and settled herself down, glancing around the small gathering that had collated in her immediate area, “Now where’s my son got to?”

“He’s with the kids.” Sandra answered, rolling her eyes and sharing a long-suffering glance with Carolyn; then she rose up on her knees to look over the top of her extended sofa, raising her voice so that it would carry to the children’s table covered in food and mindless chatter, colourful bunting that Bobbie and Flora had strung up on every chair, “Oi, Arthur, get over here and be a grown up.”

“I’m here, really I am; I was just checking on them.” Arthur was rambling before he had even stumbled to his feet, striding across the room in a few short steps and dropping down beside his wife; he clapped his hands together and grinned at the gathering, cheerful as if he had never been gone, “Is everyone having fun?”

“Everyone’s getting wonderfully drunk.” Deborah assured him, smirking as he nodded and refused the glass of Talisker that Sandra offered him; at least there would be one sober mind to engage with, even if it was an Arthur-ish mind, “Except me of course.”

“I’m not getting drunk.” Martin amended, as he took a sip of whiskey, raising his glass as if to demonstrate how much he had left; to his credit, he was only slurring a little bit, far less than he _could_ have been. He even seemed quite proud of himself and his self-restraint.

“Sorry, darling.” Deborah sighed, lifting her hand to trace the backs of her knuckles over his cheeks as he leaned his chin against the top of her head; her eyes flickered towards Arthur, smiling conspiratorially, only partially sure that he realised he was meant to be indulging her teasing, “Everyone but Martin and I are getting drunk, which I gather was the point of tonight.”

“I’m not having a getting old party without getting drunk.” Carolyn snorted, doing her best to do just that, “What a ridiculous idea.”

Herc said something in agreement, and Sandra and Arthur joined in, but Deborah didn’t hear what any of them were saying as Martin shifted beside her, slipping an arm around her waist and dropping his chin from atop her head to beside her ear.

“I have plans for you tonight.” Martin murmured into her ear, creating a pleasant warmth where he was wrapped around her, tracing his fingers over her knee and leaning into her side; she suspected that he didn’t realise quite how loud his voice was, although everyone else in the room did, “Amazing, brilliant plans.”

“You _are_ drunk.” Deborah purred, tipping her head back so that she could look him in the eye, slipping her hands down to stop his from moving _too_ far into dangerous waters.

“And in public.” Herc interjected loudly. Deborah glared at him, but it was enough to make Martin relinquish his drink and guiltily push it to the far end of the table, far enough that he wouldn’t be able to reach it from where he was curled around her; that should keep him quiet for the time being.

“Do please restrain yourselves in front of me.” Carolyn begged wryly, covering her eyes with a wrinkled hand and shaking her head in despair; when she looked back to them, it was with a gaze just as sharp and long-suffering as it had ever been, glinting with something wicked like a shark on the scent of blood, “I’ve only just erased the first time I caught you from my mind.”

“Sorry Carolyn.” Martin chuckled into the back of his hand, a half-hearted attempt to hide the blush on his cheeks which only served to make it all the more prominent; he did have the decency to sit back imperceptibly, allowing an inch of air between them as his eyebrows knitted and his lips curled into a wicked smirk, “Which time was that? Not the one when Deborah was-”

“Dressed _like that_.” Carolyn finished for him, descending into drunken giggles as Martin did the same, the both of them sniggering at the memory.

“Oh, _yes_ , I remember _that_.” Martin sniggered, chest shaking with the effort of it as his fingers curled into the fabric of Deborah’s dress; he tipped his head down to meet her eye, laughing all the more at the expression on her face, “That was very funny.”

“It wasn’t.” Deborah snapped, remembering all too vividly exactly which even they were discussing and hating the way that her cheeks heated at the thought and made her want to bury her head in Martin’s shoulder to avoid their mirth; it had been _years_ for crying out loud, “Now please do shut up.”

“I miss those times.” Carolyn remarked nostalgically, whirling her drink around the inside of her glass and pursing her lips in thought, “Neither of you do anything even slightly mock-worthy anymore.”

“ _Well_.” Herc said in an undertone, covering his mouth with his hand and kicking his feet up onto the foot rest, folding his arms loosely as he caught Carolyn’s eyes.

“Well, there was last week.” Carolyn cooed, brightening immediately as she surveyed Martin from across the small space; at least she was enjoying herself, if nothing else, “Tell me Martin, did you drop the cabinet on your foot before or after you reversed your van into the side of that cottage?”

“Yes, ha ha, very funny, all of you laugh at my pain, which was actually very painful by the way.” Martin muttered, turning to Deborah for support and finding nothing more than shrugged shoulders in the wake of Carolyn’s sniggers; instead, he raised his voice abruptly, eyes widening indignantly as they were wont to do when he was changing the subject away from his miserable luck, “Let’s talk about MJN.”

“What about MJN?” Carolyn demanded, suddenly serious as she placed her glass down and leaned forwards to interrogate him; no matter what she said, Deborah never doubted for a moment that she still cared about the airline, “What have you done to my company?”

“The faith you have in us is astounding, it really is.” Deborah drawled, exhaling slowly as she sat up straight, out of Martin’s comfortable hold and leaned forwards, arms on knees, hands under her chin. It was about time, even though they hadn’t intended to discuss anything today, to get everything out in the open air.

“Well hold on.” Arthur interrupted before his mother could speak, eyes flickering bewilderedly between the three of them in his usual clueless manner; one never knew when he had been listening or wandering through his own head, but now seemed to be the former, “I still work at MJN and I don’t know what you want to talk about either.”

It was true that Deborah had elected not to inform Arthur of what they had been planning. She couldn’t bear to imagine the disappointment on his face had it all failed at the first few steps.

“I’m thinking of coming back – t-to work for MJN for good.” Martin announced, stammering nervously when he realised that the eyes of everyone in the room were on him, save for those of the children, still chattering out of the way, “We’ve been thinking about it for years, but it’s only started to seem realistic in the past few months – i-it still won’t be realistic for at least another year or two, b-but it’s getting there.”

“That’s brilliant!” Arthur declared, jolting into activity for only a moment before reality seemed to grasp him and his eyes narrowed in confusion, his hands winding together over his lap, “But…I thought we weren’t making a lot of money.”

“And I thought you needed two wages to raise two children.” Carolyn added, expression pinching in concern wrapped within the facsimile of criticism; it was a fair assessment on her part, having wrung the failing company for all it was worth herself, “I understand that you’re both sentimental idiots, but you can’t really be thinking of abandoning the Fast Jets pay-cheque?”

“A-actually, we’re not.” Martin insisted, hands flapping with the determination that he brought to everything nowadays; he wouldn’t take failure for an answer, “We’ve been working on this for years…we didn’t tell anyone in case it didn’t work, b-but we’ve finally made some moves that are going to revolutionise the company.”

“Without telling me.” Arthur noted, not quite unhappily, but not quite as confused as before either as he looked to Deborah, brow furrowing with the weight of his questions, “If it was a secret, I could have kept it – or helped. I could have helped.”

“You’ve been playing your part as well Arthur.” Deborah assured him, making sure not to break eye contact just in case he got the wrong idea; the last thing she wanted was to upset him, even though they had very much made it a _couple’s_ project, “Your customer service has become impeccable.”

“Oh, wow, that’s good.” Arthur remarked, immediately placated enough to beam at her and sit back, slinging an arm over the back of his sofa, relaxing without a second thought; he really had been on top form, hadn’t spilled anything in months, “I hadn’t even noticed.”

“We wanted to announce it properly, when we were all together.” Deborah informed the whole group, lifting her hands reasonably into the air as if balancing scales, turning to glance at Martin to prompt him into action; she wasn’t taking all the slack, and he had been waiting months to tell everyone.

“We’ve cemented MJN.” Martin picked up where she left off, fidgeting where he sat as he pushed a hand through his hair and cleared his throat; he sounded just as he did when he was playing the Captain for the accountants, making everything sound as if it might work, “It’s no longer a company doomed to fail – i-if we play our cards right, it could be around longer than we are.”

“How?” Sandra asked, catching Martin’s attention; she was still sitting back, eyes narrowed in concern, biting the sleeve that she had pulled up and over her thumb, ever the pragmatist that Arthur would never be on his own, “I mean, I get that you’re doing better but…”

“It’s simple really.” Deborah replied, shrugging her shoulders and swallowing the fizzle of nervous pride that erupted in the pit of her stomach at the thought of all of their plans coming to fruition, “I won’t bore you, but: the profits are up, hugely, and the insurance is air-tight – our client list has expanded, and our marketing is doing well enough that we’re gaining more all the time.”

“I’ve also been talking to my bosses at Fast Jets Uk, a-and they’ve put me in touch with other large airlines.” Martin explained eagerly, biting his lip but ploughing onwards even as Carolyn raised her eyebrows in disbelief, “W-we’ve set up a sort of…a deal, where when they fly really rich passengers, o-or they need cargo transporting, o-or recovery for grounded planes, they call us.”

“Which means a steady stream of clients and _funding_.” Deborah continued, taking over when it looked like Martin might wind himself in his hurry to get everything out at once; a hand sliding between them to take his was enough to steady him, “They’re willing to charter us to fly their most esteemed passengers for a small cut and an advertisement on the bottom of our website.”

“So when everything’s sorted, MJN is going to be bigger than it was before I started.” Martin concluded, giving Deborah’s hand a squeeze as he spoke, “All the old flight paths and jobs will be back _and_ we could probably afford to expand.”

“That’s…you did that? _You_ did that? The two of you?” Carolyn’s mouth fell open and gaped as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing; she shared a glance with an equally stunned Herc, before swallowing hard, nodding slowly, and then shifting as if her whole world were reasserting itself, “Well…I must say I’m…I’m impressed. You should be very proud of yourselves, really I…I never thought you’d be so _clingy_ , to MJN of all things.”

“I think it’s brilliant!” Arthur declared, voice rising so loud that the chatter from the children’s table softened for a moment, before restarting again; when nobody responded in kind, he gaped at the lot of them, insistent that they join in his cheer, “Isn’t it? It’s the best thing I’ve heard all year.”

“And, a-and we thought of something else.” Martin remarked suddenly, squeezing Deborah’s hand again and nodding demonstratively towards Carolyn, a coy smile on his face, “Something to say thank you for everything – a sort of birthday treat, e-even though it won’t be your birthday when it happens-”

“You know how pubs have the name of the landlord over the door?” Deborah saved him the trouble, sacrificing the part of her that wanted him to take the wrap; it was a present from both of them, a gesture straight from the heart and it needed to be delivered properly, “We’re going to do that, but in dedication to the founder.”

“Me?” Carolyn asked, pressing a hand to her chest as she stared in surprise; it was a testament to how speechless she had been struck that she didn’t brush Herc off when he reached out and patted her wrist, “You’re going to put my name on GERTI?”

“Well _yes_.” Deborah drawled, quirking an eyebrow and doing nothing to smother a smirk as it appeared on her lips; job done and absolutely accomplished, “Where else would you have us put it? Carved into the underside of the toilet?”

“I don’t know what to say.” Carolyn breathed, still pale and staring between the two of them. It was actually becoming a little bit scary.

“Just promise not to hug me and we’re square.” Deborah promised, settling back against Martin’s arm. That really would be too close for comfort.

“What are you going to do with the kids?” Herc inquired, tentatively, as if he were genuinely afraid of throwing a wrench in their plans as she sat forwards and hooked his hands together over his knee, “Flora’s in school now, but Dougie’s still at home with you.”

“Of course, the company won’t be fully functioning until Dougie’s in boarding school.” Martin explained dismissively, shrugging nonchalantly; he had it all planned out already, “But I can make the move to MJN as soon as we’re certain that profits have doubled.”

“It’s going to be amazing.” Arthur exulted, then he clapped his hands together and reached for the bottle of sparkling water that they had left beside the Talisker, moving quickly and with vigour, “We should do a toast – three cheers for MJN, that sort of thing.”

So they did a toast, and there was cheering and laughter, and for one night everything was perfectly alright. Against all odds, everything went well. Arthur and his daughter made a mess in the kitchen while Martin and Verity lost control of the children when one of them worked out how to use the stereo. It wasn’t like old times, not nearly, but Deborah couldn’t find it in herself to care.

As the warm glow of Carolyn’s lounge pushed out the dark of the night’s sky, it was just nice to lie back, close her eyes, and listen to the sounds of her MJN family clattering about and screaming at each other while she tried to remember where they were flying to over the weekend. Some things never changed.

But Deborah really hoped that they calmed down by the time _she_ was eighty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go : )


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

For the first time in hours, it was quiet. The sun was up, against all odds, burning cheerfully in the sky as if it didn’t know that it should have been in mourning, ducking respectfully behind the clouds. Even so, it was cold outside, but Deborah couldn’t find it in herself to care. She had held herself together for hours, but now that everyone else was gone, there were no more strangers or stragglers, she was allowed the peace of isolation, to wrap her coat around herself and ignore the chill that seeped from the grass through her trousers where she sat upon the ground, legs crossed, head down.

Deborah didn’t want to think about the dank expanse of neatly trimmed green grass, or the wrought iron fences. She didn’t want to think about the elms that stood watchfully around the perimeter, keeping out the keen eyes of those passing by. Deborah didn’t want to think about the rows upon rows of granite and marble, or the names carved into them at the instruction of loving relatives.

The very last thing in the world that she wanted to think about was the headstone in front of her, shiny and new, name freshly carved into the stone…cold and unforgiving…a definite end that nobody had wanted to come.

But Deborah had to do this…there would be no living with herself if she didn’t get it out now.

“You know…I honestly thought you were invincible.” Deborah remarked, her throat welling up in time with her eyes, synchronising perfectly with the ache that hadn’t left her chest since the night that it had happened; she curled her fingers into the flaps of her coat where they lay on her knees, pulled up so that her feet rested flat on the ground, toes inches from the headstone, “No…no… _indomitable_ , that’s the word…indomitable.”

“I suppose I just…I took you for granted a bit, a _lot_.” She continued, nodding to herself and pressing her lips into a thin line as she stared at the edge of the stone, just over the top of it to where the sky waited, forlorn and daunting, “It’s just that you were always there…you were, you were always there in the background…or the foreground…or _somewhere_ at least.”

“I knew you longer than I ever knew my mother – I don’t know what to do with that information.” Deborah couldn’t help the sardonic upward tilt of her lips, or the caustic ghost of a scoff that alighted in her throat only to abandon her at the last moment; her fingers tightened around her knees, “For god’s sake – you were around longer than my _father_ was, and he had a good old run.”

“I would have been nothing without you…nothing at all.” Her voice wavered and she could hear how faint she sounded, even against the faint breeze and the otherwise silent cemetery; she pushed a hand under her nose and did her best to maintain her composure, “I think you knew that…even though you’d always be nagging me…trying to get me to solve all of your problems for you…I like to think you knew. I hope you know.”

Deborah swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Then she opened them again. Nothing had changed. Exhaling sharply, she pulled her hands into her sleeves and gripped the material, stretching out her arms to rest her wrists against her knees; there was nothing she could do. Nothing could be said to make this better.

“I think I’m a bit old to believe that you’re listening in…but I really hope you are.” Deborah felt herself fall over the precipice, felt the ache in her chest turn into a burn that clawed at her throat and had her shivering down to each individual rib as she let the words pour from her lips, “I don’t know how the world’s going to cope without you…I’m not coping. I’m not coping at all…I miss you so much.”

At this, Deborah dropped her head down until her face was buried in the crooks of her arms; the darkness and warmth only made it worse. There was nothing that she could do, no clever trick to fix this.

“Really though…” Deborah sniffled as she raised her head and blinked up at the headstone, “I wouldn’t have been a damn thing without you.”

She tried a smile, but it died on her lips before the warmth of the gesture met her eyes. Shaking her head, Deborah tried to muster up her voice again before she found herself sitting once more in hateful silence.

“I remember how you used to joke…you used to say that MJN – that MJN was the best thing you ever did.” Deborah tried for nostalgia, found that memories alighting on her tongue and streaming from her eyes in the wake of the heat that left damp trails of her cheeks; she could barely remained upright, pressing her hands against her chest to keep it all in, “It wasn’t – _god_ , it wasn’t…the best thing you ever did was picking us up and keeping us in line.”

“Lord knows what’s going to happen now.” Deborah groaned, rolling her head back and listening to the bones click, the first signs that she was probably getting on a bit; it did nothing to help the miserable pit of desolation that had settled deep inside of her days ago, weeks in fact, “Probably nothing…everything’s in line already, moving along at a nice pace…we’re all set and the kids are doing well…the world’s still ticking on and…and that’s good…I guess.”

Deborah couldn’t say that she knew much of anything anymore.

“That is good.” She repeated, decidedly, nodding her head and biting her lip; when she couldn’t think of what else to say she shrugged her shoulders and looked around, up at the sky, across the grass, then at the headstone, and the honesty caught her like a punch to the gut, “Everyone else went home…I stayed because – well I…I didn’t want to leave.”

“There’s a lot I…I didn’t mean to say anything really, but I …I want to, now. I should say something…I want to talk to you, but I _can’t_ …this is as close as it’s going to get.” Deborah blinked hard as her vision blurred and she wiped at her eyes, “Closure…that’s what we all need, isn’t it? That’s what they say.”

They said a lot of things. Everyone was saying things and none of it made a damn difference. Nobody was left that could say the right thing.

“I miss you Carolyn.” Deborah sobbed, a thin, watery sound that pierced the air and hung there; it made her shudder as the tears poured down her cheeks as the air refused the stay in her lungs and all that she could do was stare at the headstone and wish it wasn’t there, “I really, _really_ miss you…”

oOoOoOo

After a while, once she had calmed down and was left with an odd, hollow sensation that flooded every inch of her system, Deborah pulled her coat more tightly around herself and sat up straight; she had to keep her cool after all. There had been a point to all of this…she had to get over losing Carolyn.

She wasn’t the only one suffering. Everyone was suffering. She should have talked more when Carolyn was around and not wilting from old age, passing peacefully before any of them really had time to say goodbye. Of course, Carolyn had called them all together for drinks, a last supper of sorts, but she hadn’t called it that. She went down composed, right to the very end.

Deborah could have murdered her for doing that. Carolyn should have gone out kicking and screaming and she shouldn’t have kept it to herself when she realised that the end was coming. That hadn’t been fair…

“The boys are all looking after each other.” Deborah announced, when the silence became too much to bear; this was what she was supposed to do, vent her troubles, fill Carolyn in on everything that had happened, “It’s odd seeing them all band together like that…then again, perhaps not.”

Being at home was like sitting in the middle of a swarm, listening to everyone else bumble around her, doing jobs, getting things ready. An island in the middle of a raging sea. One miserable person wondering why nobody else seemed to be taking the loss quite so desperately.

“Arthur’s alright…I think.” Deborah explained, trying her best not to see Arthur’s face as it appeared at the front of her mind; all she could do was sniffle and wind her fingers together against the cold, “Of course, he’s not alright at all…he’s distraught and in pain and I spent the whole night with him while Sandra looked after Bobbie…that night.”

There was nothing in the world quite so awful as an Arthur without a smile…save perhaps an Arthur without a Carolyn. Deborah had tried to look after him, but there was nothing to say that could make things better. He might have been a married man and a father, but he was still the same young man that she had met once upon a time; somehow he was managing to comfort everyone else while ignoring his own suffering.

“He’s getting better though.” Deborah sighed, lowering her gaze and staring at her hands; anything was better than staring at the headstone, one cold, dead lump of rock that could never stand in for the real thing, “I think he liked being able to have the funeral…he sees the best in everything and I…I suppose it was good for him to give you a good send-off…now he has the fact that you’re well looked after to comfort him.”

That was a lie. Deborah was good at lying. Carolyn wouldn’t expect anything less. It hurt to know that she should have lied so much less.

“Arthur’s not okay…” Deborah admitted, choking on the words as she gritted her teeth against the sour tang of the truth; the tension seeped from her shoulders and she inhaled slowly, “But he will be.”

Apparently everyone would be okay. Looking around the empty cemetery, breathing in the dry taste of a bonfire that was wafting from somewhere in town, it was impossible to believe that anything would be okay ever again. But it would…Deborah had been through this before, and it always became okay…after a while.

“Martin’s keeping an eye on him – doing manly things, you understand, as best as Martin can do.” Deborah told the headstone, rocking ever so slightly as she got a hold of herself, pushing her hair behind her ears; a flicker of warmth fluttered in her chest at the thought and the echo of a smile flittered over her lips, “It’s good of him…they’ve been keeping themselves busy, and Martin…Martin’s been brilliant.”

Quite the Captain. Things were all over the place and Martin was holding them all together.

“He…he helped arrange everything.” Deborah continued dryly, fidgeting uncomfortably, but with no intention of leaving; a small part of her hoped that Carolyn was listening, that she could hear and know just what they were all doing for her, “I mean, Martin’s upset, naturally, but he’s keeping us all together. He cried, but he’s tougher than he looks…Martin’s looking after all of us.”

“You know…if it weren’t for you, Martin and I would never have met.” Deborah remarked, quirking her eyebrows and laughing wryly as she mulled it over; all of these things should have been said years ago, so that Carolyn could have known how much she had done for them, “He’d have never been as good a pilot as he is now…he’d never have married me…you made him…you broke him down but you made him into what he is today.”

Deborah closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe, shuffling her feet; she didn’t want to get any closer to the headstone. The sinking feeling of acceptance was hard to resist, but she was going to keep trying as long as she could. Another few hours and the sky would be turning dark…so she had a few hours left.

“Martin knows that…he hasn’t said a lot – well, he _has_ , but it’s the usual rambling, of course.” Deborah murmured, swallowing a hard lump of guilt; she couldn’t even look after her husband properly, “But yes…I think Martin’s well aware of what you did for us and…and he misses you too.”

There was more that needed to be said.

“Hercules is…Herc’s alright too.” Deborah informed the headstone, nodding although she didn’t feel particularly positive; the letters were carved so beautifully, a charming dedication to a good woman, and yet they didn’t do nearly enough to fix what had been left behind, “Which is to say, he’s not alright at all, but he’s managing.”

For once in her life, Deborah actually felt bad for Herc; he loved Carolyn as much as the rest of them. She had been careful not to be rude to him, and to involve him in everything that she and Martin arranged…well, that Martin arranged. Herc was getting on with things…he was hurting, but he was getting on with things, just like everyone else.

“It’s as if…we’re all _old_ now.” Deborah mused, curling her hands into her coat and huddling into herself; they should have had these conversations when they weren’t so one sided, but there was nothing that could be done anymore, “We’re old now, and everyone’s just accepting that death happens and even though we’re all sad…they’re just getting on with things and trying to move on…Except me of course.” She choked, but forced herself to carry on, “I…I honestly didn’t see this coming.”

Another wave of tears threatened to well up, from Deborah’s chest to her eyes, burning too hot and too painful; the ejection of air leaving her bereft. She forced herself to keep it together, but someone needed to listen to her and if that someone was a headstone…she should have talked more before, when she had the chance.

“I’d like to say that I’ve been there for everyone – cheering up the kids, staying strong for Herc…looking after Arthur.” Deborah bemoaned, smirking as she imagined the way that Carolyn would be rolling her eyes and scoffing at her insecurities; it would have been worth it to be able to work her old magic, “I haven’t…I reckon I’ve just cried a lot…not that I can remember much…it’s all a bit of a blur.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.” Deborah shook as she said it, as if all of the fractures, years’ worth of damage held together by MJN’s eternal faith in her, were breaking apart; she wasn’t ready to stand on her own yet, “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you…I was a wreck when we met and you…I couldn’t have done it alone.”

Deborah wouldn’t have a single thing without Carolyn Knapp-Shappey. None of them would.

“But I…Martin and I, we were…God, you know, I keep thinking about that – if you hadn’t hired Martin, if you hadn’t hired _me_ …” Deborah couldn’t keep on a single train of mind; there were too many thing whirring about inside her head, “I was married to someone who didn’t love me, running out of money, I barely saw my daughter…then you fixed all of that.”

“You gave me Martin.” Deborah noted, glazing over as something in her chest lurched, and she pressed her hands over it, clasping down in the hope that it would go away, “You could have lived for another thousand years and I’d never have finished repaying you for that.”

Not in a _million_ years. Carolyn never knew how much she had done for them.

“But yes…what was I saying?” Deborah cut herself off with a stilted laugh, “Oh, yes…Martin and I, we were going through the files you’d left me in the porta-cabin – I- I don’t think I ever actually looked at them…I wanted to do it all myself.”

Carolyn had spent years hovering around MJN and Deborah only wished that she had taken advantage of her when she had the chance.

“I looked in them yesterday though…and…I found your log-book.” With that Deborah reached into her pocket, to where she had stashed the log-book, where Martin wouldn’t find it she held it tightly, running the edges of the pages beneath her fingers, “I spent all of last night reading the extra notes you wrote for each flight – god, we were awful. I’d forgotten how much we put you through.”

Last night, Deborah had cried. Martin hadn’t known what was going on, but when he put the kids to bed, she curled up under the covers and flicked through all of the tidy scrawls, all of the dear-diary complaints, everything that was left of Carolyn and the good old days. It was a little piece of the past.

“The entries are a bit dull for a while, but they get fun around the time Martin joined.” Deborah murmured, as she opened the book, rested it on her knees and traced the tip of her finger down the pages ,“I always thought you were joking when you said I was worse with him around…but… _well_ …I really _did_ get worse when Martin was in the room.”

It had been odd, looking at her past through Carolyn’s eyes. They had never given her the credit she deserved; Carolyn had never been tactful, but looking at her notes, it was impossible to accuse her of not caring.

“I brought it with me actually – the log book, that is.” Deborah remarked wryly, tapping the log-book and inwardly cursing herself; it wasn’t as if Carolyn could see it, or as if she cared at all, wherever she was, but it was comforting to go over her words, “I think I’m going to keep it…Arthur wouldn’t begrudge me that.”

Without giving it much thought, Deborah sighed and leafed through to sometime before Martin had arrived. Then, letting the tingle of nostalgia prickle at her skin and settle in her throat, she began to read aloud.

**_ Vancouver _ **

_~I’m going to murder Deborah. Cost of flight well above limit because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Looks like we’ve lost another pilot. Would murder her if didn’t need at least one pilot to keep GERTI in the air. ~~Although he was a complete idiot and even Arthur thought so.~~~_

**_ Wellington _ **

_~Arthur should not be allowed to bake on flights, no matter how special the event is. Pilots are to be informed that Arthur is not allowed to bake on flights no matter how hungry they are. They should be mature enough to know that that is a bad thing. Cannot afford to land in every airport from Fitton to New Zealand.~_

_ Berlin _

_~Have words with Martin Crieff. Do not be gentle. Deborah won’t quit, but she’ll try and make him quit – ~~threaten to put her on every solo fight from~~ definitely put her on solo flights all week. ~~Not that Martin doesn’t deserve it~~. He’s a ~~stubborn git dedicated Captain.~~ Threaten to demote him if he doesn’t behave. ~~Can’t, but~~ ~_

_ Moscow _

_~Martin is not a good pilot ~~I knew this when I hired him but~~. Arthur likes him. Deborah ~~likes him~~ hasn’t driven him out yet. Need to have words with both of them. Normally she just manipulates them - she’s never actually started a fight before. How does one explain to the passengers that their First Officer just stormed from the flight-deck because ~~the Captain is being a prick~~ there has been a disagreement. Then again, Martin gives as good as he gets. Will start going on more flights to monitor arguments.~_

_ Abu Dhabi _

_~Not on flight but should have been. Deborah thinks I don’t know the match trick, silly woman. I don’t know how she convinced him, but Martin let her get away with it. ~~Must punish both~~. Do nothing- encourage teamwork. If they’re plotting together they might stay together. There’s no way Arthur was in on this.~_

_Deborah couldn’t help but smile as she read that, cutting herself off with a sniffle as she rubbed one hand over her eyes. She had to plough onwards though; she had gone to the trouble of finding her favourites so that Carolyn would hear one last piece of their past before the rest of them moved on._

_ Boston _

_~Wasted a lot of fuel – cut down next flight’s costs. Lawyers ready in case of dead American’s family retaliating. Show Arthur safety course again to avoid more mishaps. ~~I would have murdered him too~~ ~_

_ Cremona _

_~Never fly that snotty woman again.~_

_ Douz _

_~Make sure to stock Galley with best coffee in Tesco. Deborah and Martin actually do a good job when they work together. Think they might be getting along – no need to look for a replacement pilot. ~~I’m pleased for them, Deborah could use a friend~~.~_

_ Edinburgh _

_~Arthur informs me that Martin lost their tips, but ruined Deborah’s plans. They took the same taxi home though, so she can’t be too upset. Well done Martin – ~~might consider giving him bonus~~.~_

_ Helsinki _

_~Let Arthur deal with the angry phone calls. Take Arthur through proper airline procedure. Hide credit cards. Look into legality behind Captains assaulting nephews and vice versa. ~~Is he okay? Deborah’s looking after him~~. No need to worry.~_

_ Gdansk _

_~I liked it better when Deborah and Martin weren’t friends. ~~Although it is nice that they’re not bickering anymore~~. Block the orchestra’s number – not worth the hassle.~_

_ Johannesburg _

_~ Should definitely have Deborah perform manual labour more often. No need to punish Martin – he’s ashamed enough as it is and Deborah is mocking him plenty. Arthur did well today – remember to let him know that he did a good job.~_

_That had been a good day. A gust of wind caught the pages and Deborah had to hurry to pin them down before the log-book was torn from her hands. This was helping…sort of; she had been striving for years to recapture what they had once had, and somehow…this was good. It was as if Carolyn were clinging to life from beyond the cold exterior of her headstone._

_ Limerick _

_~No more long flights- they can do them alone without me getting bored. ~~Arthur doesn’t need monitoring~~ Prepare meals early, give Arthur written instructions. Deborah and Martin seem happy entertaining themselves ~~although what they get up to alone in the flight-deck in the dark I don’t want to know~~.~_

__

_ Hong-Kong – Tokyo – Molokai _

_~Need to write down everything used to trick Mr Alyakhin – good customer, will come back to us. Make Deborah and Martin’s lives a misery for almost ruining everything – bloody hyenas. ~~Glad they’re having fun, but~~ Liked it better when they were fighting.~_

_ Qikiqtarjuaq _

_~ Disaster. Too late to punish Deborah now. ~~I hope, * It looks like- Martin – Everything –~~_

_Will not interfere at all. Cannot risk losing them. They’ll cool down eventually. ~~It would be a shame to go back to the fighting. They really shouldn’t still be shouting at one another.~~_

__

_ Newcastle _

_~Hercules Shipwright: 07743984783~_

It was impossible not to laugh at that. Something warm and pleasant settled in Deborah’s chest. 

_ Rotterdam _

_~No incidents. Arthur performed perfectly. Deborah and Martin getting along well, ~~very well actually~~. ~~Are they sleeping together – no, they can’t be.~~ Arthur is editing video – will have Deborah look at it later.~_

_ St Petersburg _

_~Could do with a week off. Pilots did well all things considered. ~~Think they went home together- don’t care~~.~_

_ Timbuktu _

_~Lost Mr Birling. Cancel annual Talisker order. Never trust Martin when he’s scheming – never trust Deborah when she’s getting hot and bothered over Martin’s scheming. In fact, keep them in separate rooms when any scheming takes place. ~~As sweet as it is, MJN can’t stand any more losses~~.~_

_ Uskerty _

_~Really do need to start paying Martin. ~~I wish that I could~~. He’s got Deborah though, so he’s not at a complete loose end. Must make today up to him. Wrap or bag Herc’s gift? ~_

_ Madrid _

_Don’t know what happened last week, but Deborah and Martin still aren’t talking. ~~I hope they’re alright~~ Arthur says they’ve split up ~~, so does Martin, Deborah was crying,~~ it can’t be permanent. I need two pilots. I need pilots that can fly well together. They’ll be back together soon._

_ Xin Zhou _

_~ ~~I~~ ~~think I might have made a huge mistake. Of course I want Martin to be happy and spread his wings, Swiss Air would be perfect for that, but I want Deborah to be happy too, and neither of them have ever been as happy as they were together. I shouldn’t have said anything about Herc and Swiss Air. Deborah, poor girl, isn’t saying a word to anyone. I’m worried about them. Arthur doesn’t know what’s happening either. How do I put this right?~~ _

_Uneventful~_

Like that the lump in Deborah’s throat returned, and her breath caught. She hadn’t realised until it was too late just how much Carolyn had cared for all of them. They had put her through so much and she had just taken it on the chin. 

_ Paris _

_~ I’m glad they’re happy, but if Martin doesn’t stop announcing his wedding over the intercom I’ll throttle him myself.~_

_~I think Deborah might actually do a good job, even if she has got Arthur helping her.~_

With that, Deborah closed the log-book and placed it on the ground by her feet. She winced as the dewy tips of the grass brushed cold against the back of her hand, but let the thought pass; Carolyn’s book was already coffee stained and torn in places, so it could survive the strains of Deborah’s mourning.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with all of this.” Deborah sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, dropping her head to rest atop the lot; she traced her eyes over the lines of the headstone and inhaled the hollow taste of the cemetery, and found herself bereft of any of her usual confidence in articulation, “It was just nice getting to hear your voice again…in a way.”

oOoOoOo

Time seemed to pass too fast and too slow…or perhaps Deborah was just lost in her own world, trying to get her head around the fact that from that moment on, when she rose from the ground and turned her back on the headstone, Carolyn would cease to be a tangible presence in her life.

Either way, she didn’t realise that the afternoon was tumbling into the evening until she felt a heavy coat settle around her shoulders. Deborah jolted back to reality as her head snapped up, smiling weakly as Martin squeezed her shoulders and dropped down beside her. A moment later, Arthur lowered himself to the ground on her other side, folding her legs beneath him.

“You shouldn’t stay here too much longer.” Martin told her gently, reaching out past the log-book on the ground and taking her hand in his, running his thumb over the back of her knuckles; he bit his lip, flushing beneath his already chill-bitten cheeks, and nodded towards the sky, “The sun’s going down.”

“I know.” Deborah replied, giving his hand a squeeze and turning away from him; she looked over to Arthur, mustering up the part of her that rallied at the sight of their steward so dejected, “How’re you doing, Arthur?”

“I’m okay, I guess.” Arthur assured her, smiling and reaching out to pat her arm just below the elbow; he exhaled slowly, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, and even though he was doing his best to remain positive, his eyes returned to the proud name adorning the headstone and his grief settled like a feather on his face, “I wish Mum was here, even though she sort of it, but isn’t really…I miss her.”

“Me too.” Deborah responded faintly; there was nothing else that could be said. They had had their gathering, the collation of their depleted crew, leaning upon one another and reminiscing over non-alcoholic drinks…it had only made the absence keener, and it always would.

“We all miss her.” Martin stated, in his best Captain voice, nodding as his own gaze wandered to the headstone and his expression softened, tempered by sadness; they would never have gotten through the recent weeks without him, taking control, “But Carolyn hated big shows of emotion. I-I-I bet she’s sat up wherever she is, watching us a-and rolling her eyes at how soppy we’re all being.”

“She’d definitely be laughing at Deborah.” Arthur agreed, choking out a short laugh and running a hand over his face and nodding quickly; the light that had been absent from his eyes of late had returned a few days before, but it was taking time, “She’d think it was brilliant you miss her so much, but I think she’d also be laughing.”

“Cackling more like.” Deborah amended, unable to raise her voice above more than a soft retort as she allowed her knees to slip down and away from her chest. It didn’t feel right making jokes when Carolyn wasn’t there…and yet at the same time, they needed it so much.

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed, dropping his head so that he wasn’t looking at the headstone any longer, lowering one hand to rest on the ground beneath them, fingers curling into the grass, “It’s okay though…she’s probably really happy wherever she is.”

“Does that make you feel better?” Deborah inquired, raising her eyebrows as she watched him, reining in the odd twist of curiosity that curled in her guts; oh, how she would have given the world for answers that could make everything better. MJN would never thrive if they spent the rest of their lives looking backwards.

“A bit.” Arthur admitted, shrugging his shoulders and offering Deborah a comforting smile; his eternal optimism could have outshone the sun, “The last thing Mum would want is for us all to be miserable – she’d want us having fun with the kids and being on GERTI together.”

“Which is exactly what we’re going to do.” Martin said determinedly, releasing Deborah’s hand and clapping his own down on his knees, sitting up, back straight as he addressed them both, “We’re not going to wallow in, in whatever this is, g-grief, o-or mourning – we’re going to make her proud.”

“Exactly, Skip.” Arthur exclaimed, only marginally quieter than his usual joyous volume; he opened his mouth, then closed it again, then his expression widened and set as if he were struck by inspiration, “You should tell her about MJN and what’s going on.”

“She was here a week ago.” Deborah interjected wearily, wrapping her arms around herself; she could feel their eyes on her and did her best to stare at the toes of her boots, “She knows.”

“Well, yeah, but dying must be really stressful.” Arthur insisted, quite reasonably, extending a hand towards the headstone as if it might agree with him given the chance; there was no arguing with him when he had set his heart on something, there never would be, “I bet she forgot about it with all the fussing that was going on, and it might be nice for her to hear that we’re all alright and that nothing’s gone wrong and that we’re-”

“It would make me feel better.” Martin cut in desolately, suddenly looking far more lost than he had been pretending not to be. Deborah wound her fingers through his, lifting his hand to press it to her cheek; the gesture drew his attention from the headstone back to the real world.

“And me.” Arthur chipped in, wrapping his coat around himself.

“I’ll start then, shall I?” Martin suggested, when Deborah didn’t say a word or respond to the tug on her hand, their gazes prickling at her skin; he cleared his throat and asked, “With the kids or MJN?”

“Oh, start with the kids.” Arthur instructed eagerly, shifting and fidgeting with nerves that nobody had known he possessed until a few weeks before, “I’ll start…Bobbie wants to be a dancer, and she’s quite good at it. I’ve been helping with her homework, but Sandra’s better at that than I am. It’s okay though, because I feel like I’m learning.”

“Good…good, th-that’s good.” Martin choked, offering Arthur a watery smile; he tipped his head to meet Deborah’s eye, but she didn’t want to say a thing, so he carried on, ever the trooper, “Our kids are alright. Verity’s got that job she wanted, a-and Flora got her results back after you…after you passed away…she did well…really well. Dougie’s not quite sure what to do with himself, but he’s got some good friends and they’re looking after him.”

“So the kids are all okay, and they’re all thinking of you.” Arthur concluded, pressing his hands together as if in prayer, although he didn’t lower his head to complete the picture; instead, he turned to Deborah and asked quietly, “Deborah…do you want to add anything?”

“You’ve got it covered.” Deborah replied, gathering her nerve and taking a deep breath to calm herself. Everything she had to say had been said, long before either man could listen in. There were things that she wished she had shared with Carolyn when she had had the time, but Martin and Arthur didn’t need to know them, and they didn’t need to know how much pain she was in; it would hardly be prudent to let them know when she was the one that kept things together…most of the time.

“Oh, well…” Arthur nodded and trailed off, sniffing loudly as he watched and waited for something more; it didn’t come, so he peered around her to where Martin was watching her with just as much concern, “Martin, you know what’s going on at MJN better than I do.”

“Yeah…y-yes I do.” Martin stammered hastily, glancing at the headstone with just as much frantic reverence as he had always shown Carolyn, as if she would turn around and snap him up at a moment’s notice, “Well, we’re um…we’re doing well. Fine in fact – completely fine. GERTI’s working, the accounts are balanced, we’re thinking about maybe signing more contracts-”

“It’s nice to be back together again.” Deborah interrupted, swallowing hard as something certain, something hot and hard and miserable but completely sure of itself settled in her chest; this was how things were meant to be, MJN, just as it always had been, pootling along against all odds, even with their leader down, “The three of us…”

“ _God_ it’s nice.” Martin exclaimed, his voice gravelly with emotion as his hand clenched around hers, and tears filled his eyes as he nodded vehemently.

“We wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, Mum.” Arthur remarked wanly, squeezing his eyes tightly shut then opening them again, letting his grief show unabashedly, “It’s not the same without you…but it’s still good.”

There was nothing else to say.

The three of them, the last dregs of MJN, sat at the foot of Carolyn’s grave until long after the sun had dropped behind the horizon and the breeze picked up, spurred on by the night. If Deborah closed her eyes, she could imagine that they were in GERTI, hiding in Fitton’s airfield, waiting for their client to turn up, laughing and keeping each other company until it was time to go home, just like old times. Without Carolyn’s voice…

After a while, Deborah plucked her log-book from the ground and opened it on her lap. Without announcing herself, she began to read from it, giving Carolyn a voice where she couldn’t provide her own. Arthur listened and added bright comments, beaming as he heard what his mother had written. Martin sighed and hummed and made shrill, indignant noises here and there.

Then they left. The three of them rose from the ground and Deborah hooked one arm through Martin’s, the other through Arthur’s, and together they made their way from the cemetery.

What else could they do, but go home, get up in the morning, and carry on doing what they were good at; making a complete meal of MJN while their leader watched on from some distant plane, probably with her feet up, laughing at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end.
> 
> Thank you for flying MJN - I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.
> 
> Like I said before, if anyone wants any one-shots, anything they'd like to see, let me know.
> 
> Otherwise, thank you for reading. : )


End file.
